The bitterness of the coffee matched that of my heart against the ice blue lighting of the moon.
This was the wild I fought each day in waking, contemplating release against the world’s ignorance and cruelty.
Putting hunt and conquest above all else.
Each morning dragging myself from bed, from pain after an evening of nightmares. Each sunrise struggling with choice — feeding only the good wolf instead. After all, where is the sport in doing something simply because you can?
Each day starts, praying what I dream was only in my head.
All but the run, the fresh of the forest, the freedom of roam and mate.
The howls cry, pulling at me to distant lands and times. She at my side, stride for stride, her coat luminous beneath the bathe of the very same moon staring me down with each drink I take.