The wolf was lonely since he remembered. Long, so long, that his brothers seemed a swift glance, that passed through the corner of his eyes and disappeared in the mist. His kind sailed into a frozen embrace of winter and he won’t hear their howls anymore, won’t feel their fur on his skin, nor he will sense their hearts, beating as one with his. His own heart battered like autumn flower and sank in the thick water of hopeless regret.

His god gave him a choice, which they never had. Frostbitten, dark lands, where they hunt alone, even if together – he had a choice to not choose them. Touched by a dark paw of a great wolf, enveloped with his grace and scorn, both given at the same time, he knew that he will regret it. That he will weep and tear his flesh to wounds, until he remains a shadow of himself, destroyed by “what-if”.

The spell drilled a hole in his soul. Maybe, if he found someone, to whom he could tell his secret, trapped behind his mute maw, he could free his brethren and give them meadows and woods, once again. But the curse made all fear him. No one ever approaches him, as they see him as a beast, with unquenched thirst for warm blood and raw meat.

Many times he tried. Many times he failed. But there is still a small flame beaming inside his old bones. A tiny kindling which can become a fire storm, if given a chance.

If anyone will give you a heart, they will be free.

Counting days won’t return their freedom. If someone will love me, despite my wild eyes and sharp teeth…

...the pack will return.

To let me rest in peace.