Willful

Flameheart

The night air has been alive with a chorus of jubilations, each howl a testament to the unity and loyalty of the wolves, flowing through the personal link that I have opened up to Athena. It is a symphony of souls, a celebration of an ancient and unbreakable bond that tethers every wolf under the moon’s watchful eye. And as I allowed Thena the privilege to listen, something stirs within her. A longing, so deep and visceral.

She is standing on the balcony, her gaze cast toward the argent disk that is hung low in the inky sky, the source of all werewolf lore. A distant look adorns her usually bright eyes, for the connection she has just witnessed is more than a physical phenomenon. Rather, it is a spiritual communion. I watch as a single tear traces a path down her cheek, but it is not born of sorrow, it is born of envy.

Slowly , I approach her whilst holding her gaze. Hoping that my presence will be a comforting warmth against the evening chill. Twirling her around, I wrap