The perfect hunter birthed from the moon,
The silver wolf born in the cycle of the lune.
A wonderful balance of predator and prey,
Was shattered when another came one day.
Man came to the forest finding it an unspoiled treat,
A jewel among the earth was the thought as he sawed the flesh off the meat.
When the prey was gone the wolf reversed his role,
From hunter to warrior, as his blood boiled when he saw the man wearing the furs he stole.
Their battle raged on for many years,
A battle it is said that even nightmares fear.
The wolf fought, with fangs of bone and claws of will,
The man's foul weapons were those that made a body ill.
Years had passed, the man still young but the wolf had grown old,
The end to their bloody conflict was about to be told.
The man knew his victory was assured, and wanted to flaunt it watching his adversary die would be fun,
The ancient wolf was weary though; he knew he had one last gauntlet to run.
The wolf ran the maze, dodging the nets, the traps, and the metal teeth called spears.
Not one had touched him, old he may be his skill had not left him in these long years.
Every trap sprung by days end, the wolf was still standing,
The man came out to put an end to the grandstanding.
The ancient wolf's body collapsed, dead and still,
He swore long ago he would never be the man's to kill.
The man roared and cursed when he saw the prefect hunter's grin,
Their battle has ended with the wolf's win.