There is no wind, all is still below the wild moon. I hunt; we hunt, individuals bathed in silver light, metallic colouring seeking metallic tang. Working as one to lessen the hardship of the Alaskan wilderness, we persevere.
Winter has been hard. Deep snows have tested us, and found a few wanting. Only the strong have survived, the bondings of the group tightened. We have a new leader now: one that was not born wolf; me.
There can be only one alpha, one supreme lord of the pack, tooth and claw has made that choice. Now, as I stand in regal monochrome nothing but an outline to those we seek, I consider. I still poses thought, I do not know for how long?
I face the north wind and taste the fear of others, I muse at what it was to be human if I have made the right choice: but not for long. I am wolf forevermore.