From a Dream
The wear-worn pads of his whitish-grey paws- fur matted and frozen in snow, claws coated with ice- crunch through the white chilled blanket of flakes of frozen rain. Pants of breath form small clouds about his ebony nose and disappear as swiftly as they come. Whiskers, sharp as swords, twitch in the cold ignoring the glass water coating their senses. Ice-eyes- dark pupils reflecting a fire within, gaze unblinking and constant- scan every corner of the white-layered forest, un-fazed by the moaning of the wind. White pieces of sky descend serenely and settle upon the coarse fur, no longer melting as they once had. Instead, they gather in small piles working in among the greys, whites, and light browns of each thick hair. Yet no bit of winter stings the proud hunter. No trees groaning under the weight of the snow could startle him. He listens for their calls among songs of small brave birds and scrambling of rabbits and prey. The echoed howlings and mournful songs reach his sharp angled ears. And the wolf returns to lead his pack to follow his destiny.
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AuthorMy words are like my brush strokes, I'm never quite sure where they'll flow to and when they'll stop. Categories
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May 2013
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