crissangellover101

It glides across the land, smooth as can be, Ageless eyes gleaming in the coming night. Dense fur bristles at a sound in the trees, Large paws stilled, prepared for a coming fight-- But it's nothing, just a wayward rabbit, Frozen in fear, as nature says it should; Calmed, it moves on, growling out of habit, Ignoring the scream of wind through the wood. Overhead, the mighty oaks buck and sway, Watching avidly as the form moves on, Chatting excitedly, as is their way, Wondering if before there'd ever been one. For the wolf was back at last, so it seemed, And even trees can't say what this will mean.