Pelt
She howls in gratitude to her one sister of the night. Bathing in silvery glow.
Atop her mountainside she is watches; paws battering against the hillside.
She cried, once, yearning for the sound of scampering hooves to silence, for large dark eyes to soften with welcome.
Now her fur is matted with sweat and blood,
she does not fight the urge to bite.
Fangs bared, she pantomimes her role.
Boundaries uncrossable- Territory marked.
It’s better to be this way.
What need for companions when the smell of iron haunts the breeze, when trees shudder, creaking a melody of their own.
Shadow drapes its own lonesome comfort.
Comfort undone with the snap of a branch.
Her ears twitch, sharp predatory eyes scanning the wild for the disruption to the sickeningly beckoning silence. And it takes only a moment for the pain to set in, something wooden skewering her ribs.
She tries to run, tries to bark and scratch and scatter herself to the wind, but it is not enough.
The gentle thud of feet follow her limping form, thick rivulets of blood seeping onto the forest floor.
Relenting to the pain, the wolf shivers, curling tail around lithe body.
Gripping each breath like claws bury themselves into the solid earth, she is futile in using the last of her strength to try and rise on unfeeling legs.
Something cards the soft fur behind her ears as she loses vision, her hunter’s shape blurring and softening. almost familiar, almost friend.
She is so very tired. The fingers that hold her down feel almost loving, the wolf grins with too many teeth.
She will never be alone again.
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