The woods are alive, and so am I.
The chains holding a part of me captive have been released and all I can think of is running, so that’s what I do.
I bound through the woods; the shadows of the trees nonexistent to the sharpness of my eyes. My great paws pound the earth viciously, and in my trail, I leave a disaster of broken twigs and trampled dirt with imprints.
Wind blows through my white mane and I feel divine; powerful; hungry. I’m howling at the bright moon; a piercing, sharp cry that echoes in the forest. I hear the scurrying away of insects. I feel the curiosity of the birds stirring in their nests. I smell the dew and the sickly sweet scent of freshly bloomed flowers. I feel the presence of human skeletons deep beneath the soil; forgotten in moss-covered graves, their lifeless
