When the night waned, and the moon was full, I heard it calling on the wind.
I heard the wolf song.
Old and enchanted. Lilting and intoning. Bidding me to run, to hide, to go forth. Bidding that I get up, that I not be still, that I look.
That I find.
Follow the hollow in the forest’s mound,
Follow it deep, deep underground.
Wolves tell the tales of the things hiding in the dark,
Wolves tell because others cannot, death to the lark.
Death to the lark.