• The somber whistling of a threatening wind served as a coo to his ears. What an extraordinary sight, the heavy blanket of salt-and-pepper-colored clouds spilling from the heavens, tumbling above the landscape in turmoil. The soaring winds smacked against the trees, weighing down their leafy canopies, making them bow to its superiority. Tall grass waved like an ocean as the breeze twiddled its icy fingers around each blade, tickling it and causing it to dance. The oncoming storm was thundering in, covering all in its path in a sheet of gray.

    Standing amidst his creation, the monstrosity's black lips twisted into a sheepish grin, pulling against his wide cheeks. Almost as if he were born from the clouds, his shaggy pelt matched the color of the angry sky; such an artistic collaboration of grays, blacks, and faded purples, brindled and crafted so carefully as to almost to be mistaken as the trench coat of a mighty deity. Webs of muscle caressed his long limbs so tightly, causing the skin above to waver as they flexed. Weaved into his nape were several feathers of a raven, so neatly tucked underneath the mess of fur.

    But what was so truly amazing about this creature, this beast, this wolf; his eyes. Such a brilliant sterling silver, almost a white; his irises so sparkled in a sort of glamor held only by one of his kind. But, if one looked closely, on a sunny day one could see a deep indigo color clinging to the edges of his pupils. The color was so faint, yet so bold; it was obvious it was just waiting to escape. For, on a day like this, the soft indigo color would burst into something amazing, the color creeping from it's hiding place around his pupils, reaching it's arm out to mix with the silver, spreading like crackling ice.

    And in these eyes, one could see something so familiar. A turmoil, clouded over by a haze of mystery, swirling with a bold glimmer of excitement. Oh, but it was the eye of the storm rolling above, its exact nature captured within those two narrow mirrors we call eyes.

    And, in a sense, it was he that was the storm.