I stumble, my paws tripping over loose sticks. people say they are too small. my heart is beating too fast as I run through the revolving trees and the wind rips through my bristled fur. people say my heart is too small too.
whenever I can, I will run away to my real home, for the eyes that watch scare me.
I don’t trust them. they say they are family, but they are not wolves.
I rest in the shelter I created for myself; the stone hole at the side of the hill, a path of small stones leading up to it. I often prefer to be alone, but in the cave, the quiet drizzling of rain comforts me, and the rocks tell me how they are my friends. if I gave all my secrets, I would give them here. here the noise is quieter.
the sun sets, no longer disturbed by the eyes that watch. my fur is warm as I envelope myself in a hug.
it’s too dark now. the moon whispers, “you must go back now”. I say that I know this. but I wish I did not have to. this is my home, and everything outside of it is not real.
the moon does not respond.
in the dark, the moon revolves around me, and the trees twist around each other. my paws quietly rip through the leaves. if I dare make any sound, I may be eaten up. I see the faintest glow of the lights that resent me. I become tired.
I sob, and bare the claws I wish I had.