Last night it was cold. It was freezing. The snow kept falling and falling, and as it continued to fall for hours, it weaved a thick white blanket that covered the landscape. In the wooden cottage, it was warm; warm and safe and lonely. The cries of the pack outside haunted my mind, painted disturbing pictures, images of pain and longing and yearning. My body begged me to stay indoors, by the fire, to fetch more wood, to cuddle up in front of the flames and relish in the feeling of safety. Yet my mind traveled fast, beyond the cottage, over the white blanket and into the woods, following the howls. But I stayed; I stayed until I could no longer hear the calling, the beckoning. And then I slept.
I woke. The rug I lay on was damp and the fire had gone out. I had no idea what time of night it was. I looked outside, and it was day. The sun shone against clouds that filled the sky. It was glorious and cleansing. The snow fall had stopped and already the blanket had been unraveled and the greenery emerged from under it in abundance.
I ran out to fence off my demons, to show myself to the day, to be liberated of my hauntings. Yet I could still hear the cry. It was a different one this time. One that did not torment me, one that made my mind and body want to run and greet it.
And it's source came to me, endearing and full of hope and with yellow eyes that promised me the world. I kneeled. Contact. Thick grey coat, and a soft undercoat gave him bulk, although he was only a pup, playful and energetic. He licked my ear as I hugged his head in my chest. I laughed. It was a moment worth last nights' torment.
And then a haunting howl again, summoning him away from me. I saw the sadness and fear in his golden eyes. They widened, he blinked and then looked down. He let me hold him for one more moment, then retreated. He ran, leaving me there in devastation. He ran paced and with rhythm, as if to the beating of a drum. A drum roll.
I followed, I pursued him in the woods, trying to track his fresh prints in the left-over snow. They say that the chase is often better than the catch, and I wish I could have kept chasing, searching, wondering instead of having found my 'catch'. Blood, violently scarlet against the purity of the white ground it covered. He lay there still twitching, sobbing a low pitch growl, in pain, in agony, but not in doubt. He knew why, although I didn't.
Tears streaming down my face, heaving and sobbing, I could taste their savor in my mouth. I caressed his soon to be lifeless body and repeated a chanted whisper "I won't forget you, I won't forget you.." He looked at me one last time, and through his auric eyes I could see his soul, bared..."I know" he replied, "I know".
I did not cry Wolf, instead I cried for my Wolf.