When I was eight years young I had two episodes of dreams with wolves.
Episodes one. I was a young wolf in a wolfpack. I ran as they ran. I slept as they slept in the open field on the ground. I ate when they ate. I was one of the pack but young and I had to listen. I felt comfortable being one of the pack but I missed time for my own and I missed human-talking.
I can't remember which episodes were first but I feel more comfortable if one was before two in time.
Episodes two. I was a human being and alone. I had to run for the wolfpack who was after me. There was no place to hide. One of the nights I realized it was a dream so I told myself - me as magician - add a stick into the dream and use it. All the nights thereafter I still dreamed about wolves hunting for me but this time I had a stick in my hand. Ready to use if necessary! I never was afraid again and they never caught me again.
Why am I telling you this? Because in a way I am still that magician.
P.S. Source picture: here.