You and the wolf lock eyes. The depth of its will gazes back at you.

Your spine freezes. Your stomach clenches and waits on breath’s command.

The wolf’s face is a calm veil. His teeth are not shown, but you know they are there.

You exhale, and the wolf’s spine breathes with you, and now you definitely know those teeth are there.
Its eyes are endlessly seeking. It is always hungry, and now it has found you. You are alone, and in this place, there is nothing but you and the wolf. Nothing but what’s inside you, and what’s inside it.

At this moment, there is only the opportunity for one of these creatures to leave satiated. You know it, the wolf knows it, and time knows it.

This is not the first time you have seen this wolf.

As it stares you in the eyes, reflecting an infinite regress of a world you will never truly understand, the wolf thinks only of hunger. You are insignificant to it. If it knew personally of your weaknesses, it would experience the called ‘pity.’ The wolf’s operative method is by using its teeth, off of which saliva drips, returned to the earth. One day, both you and the wolf will join it. Today, you have to decide when.

The wolf’s spine is poised to strike, with the precision and accuracy of innumerable lifetimes of dedication. It’s waiting for you to quit standing your ground, relinquishing the only strength you have over it. It wants you to grant permission.

You have looked into those eyes and only ever seen the reflection of yourself, because you know that the wolf can only hurt you if you let it. It won’t go down without a fight, and sometimes, such exertion will leave you worse for wear — those teeth grew sharp — but you‘re always going to battle it, because it never goes away, and you’re never strong enough to do anything more than scare it.

Still, not today. Once again, you’re gonna bite that wolf on the ear and say, “For now, you go hungry.”