The Wolf

I fed the wolf that howled at night, scraping the door with sharps claws, eager to see the woods again, scared that it will never see the moon again. Trapped between yesterday and today, it couldn’t look in the tomorrow, or preferred to not look into the one, that was caged behind bars, with a bowl of food given once a day, and a collar made of leather, choking it.

I fed the wolf, who bared its teeth at the world, to not get wounded again. A beast of vengeance that still remembered the wrongs done twenty years ago, unable to forget, spreading the hurt over now. The wolf, who yearned for freedom, yet it was bound to wounds, which it got on the hunt done so long ago, that it blurred, leaving only ghastly image of blood and running prey.

I fed the wolf that replaced the two mouths on my shoulder. It became my angel and my demon, my bloodborn adviser and safety concealment.

Maybe I overfed it.

I still listen to it. It growls silently into my ear. But I know when it lies.

My Fenrir, a blood child of the trickster, never is truly honest with me. And when the past emerges, spilled by its maw just into my heart, I shut it with a tale of freedom, with song of the dark woods, when our home is.

The home, where we are heading, together. Where past doesn’t matter and where the future is shining like a night flower, in the wilderness where our blood binds with veins of the trees.