Spirit of Shadow

The clear mountain stream gurgles tranquilly over smooth stones

The scent of pine laced with the sweet aroma of blooming wildflowers

I feel the cool wetness seep through my fur and caress my skin

Pebbles shift beneath my pads and click against my claws

The water is sweet nectar to my parched throat

My long tongue laps the nectar eagerly

My pointed ears pick up the barely audible scratching of a squirrel in the tree above

A soft breeze gently ruffles my midnight black pelt

The musky scent of a pack-mate tickles my nostrils

I raise my head, water drips from my angular muzzle

Alertly my amber eyes take in the surrounding forest

I am a will-o’-the-wisp, a spirit of shadow

I glide silently in my domain, invisible

Unless I choose to be seen

A wolf, king of the forests