It rained today in Silverpine. Lighting flashed tearing into the pillow-like clouds. Distant thunder followed, jarring the rain loose. Drops of water pounded my receding flesh and protruding bone. I strain to remember the smells of an approaching storm. It wasn't so much the actual odors I desire to recall, but the feelings they triggered. Renewal, rebirth, hope, anticipation...violence. Yes, all feelings I long to remember. All feelings I need to remember. Storms like this help me remember.
Thick mud sucked at my foot, as I tracked along the lake's edge. Hunched, I stalked my target. I was close. I lowered my profile from two limbs to three. Finally, I allowed the mud to thicken around the length of my body, as I crawled toward him. It would be my first in this life.
Amongst the sea of darkness stood a single light, Gorefang, the white wolf. Proud and defiant, the worg paced along the water's edge. Perhaps it was my lowered posture, or maybe, the air's misty thickness, or even my Queen's favor, whatever caused my blanket deception, I was grateful. From a mere body length away, I raised up onto a single knee.
"Gorefang." I called clearly, not with overbearing authority, but also without meekness.
The wolf's eyes met mine. He did not startle or snarl. He only watched. Together, we sat in the mud and storm. Evening passed into night. We sat motionless, but not without emotion. In contrast to our solemn exterior, a burning, melding of souls and spirits took place. As the stars above mediated the war between lighting and thunder, a silent storm raged. Domination, submission, respect, partnership and marriage battled for control.
As dawn broke, we moved in concert with each other, to each other. My hand to his brow. His brow to my hand.
I have found my Storm Wolf.
