The wind is screaming overhead
I can’t feel the ground beneath my paws
I soar like a bird above, over, through
The sound is thunderous and it
Races like my heartbeat
It is the sound of a thousand paws
Bringing the pack forward,
Surging, flying, plummeting
I can’t feel the ground beneath my paws
I soar like a bird above, over, through
The sound is thunderous and it
Races like my heartbeat
It is the sound of a thousand paws
Bringing the pack forward,
Surging, flying, plummeting
She knows this, knows it like she knows that she is alive, and it sings the most exhilarating song in her blood. There is madness in their collective sighs, breathless exaltation in even the strongest howl. It makes her wonder, wonder at this unfamiliar familiarity and this boundless need to move, move, move with this pack.
Her pack. Maybe.
Then there is quiet
The howls turn to shallow breaths
And there are no paws crashing along
I blink
How odd that silence can capture
So many hearts so quickly
It hurts
And I choke back a howl
That threatens to break forth
A cry to the cold, unforgiving moon
But as I think that
The pack breathes out as one,
“Mother.”
The howls turn to shallow breaths
And there are no paws crashing along
I blink
How odd that silence can capture
So many hearts so quickly
It hurts
And I choke back a howl
That threatens to break forth
A cry to the cold, unforgiving moon
But as I think that
The pack breathes out as one,
“Mother.”
Staring up at the moon, she knows without knowing that all around her stands Mother Moon's children. She knows it with a certainty that makes her bones ache and her pelted tail shiver. For the first time she looks, really looks, at the warm, life-full creatures standing beside her and what she sees makes her draw in a sharp breath.
She had come home and hadn’t even known it.
Her pack. Unquestionably.
Like that, they are running again,
I am helpless but to follow.
They rush forward, now silent,
Under the watchful gaze of Mother Moon
Cool and lenient, carefully guarded,
We weave between trees
And the gentlest moon beams
Then with an invisible, unknowable signal
One to which I still respond, we drop as one
Into a deep crouch
I am helpless but to follow.
They rush forward, now silent,
Under the watchful gaze of Mother Moon
Cool and lenient, carefully guarded,
We weave between trees
And the gentlest moon beams
Then with an invisible, unknowable signal
One to which I still respond, we drop as one
Into a deep crouch
It takes several long, fervent moments of circling and soundless gliding before suddenly, the pack explodes. There are growls that shudder through her and howls that compel her to join. Amongst the crashing and snapping, her fangs find purchase and blood floods her mouth. All too soon, it’s over.
Or not. It’s different now though as she stands over the newly dead prey and her pack jostle for blood, hungry, starving. Some are diving in while others shove their way forward. So close, she joins them in their frenzy, this time for sustenance rather than the kill.
When it is over. They mill around her, warm and happy. Satisfied.
They croon to her, all saying the same thing, “Pack, pack, packmate.”
Her own voice mingles with theirs. Her pack.
Too soon and not soon enough
The need for movement infects the pack
It sinks its claws into every heart
And there is no choice but to run,
No choice but to speed forward
As if fire chased us with deadly intent.
The earth screams,
“Run!”
The wind howls,
"Run!"
All around us,
Pleading, crying, wailing,
"Run!"
They run.
I run.
We run.
The need for movement infects the pack
It sinks its claws into every heart
And there is no choice but to run,
No choice but to speed forward
As if fire chased us with deadly intent.
The earth screams,
“Run!”
The wind howls,
"Run!"
All around us,
Pleading, crying, wailing,
"Run!"
They run.
I run.
We run.