Without a pack, without a home or lair

I wander in the shining purple dusk

The smell of idle prey is in the air

I fear neither the antler nor the tusk

Into the stony mountains leads the trail

The cold wind nibbles harshly at my pelt

I see a shapeless shadow in the pale

I wander where I wish and nowhere else

The young buck drinks its water near the stream

The cold snow crackles soft beneath my paws

Its eyes grow wider in a horrid scream

I snap its tender neck between my jaws

Relinquish the illusion of control

The world belongs to him that takes it whole