by Eric Fauble

Created on: April 24, 2010

The moon gazed across the surface of the ocean, the brilliant bright white light just as dazzling as its cousin, the sun. It sat up in that hazy sky, with its stars at fixed positions, like the moon held them there by gravity alone, twinkling ever so peacefully against the black blanket above. It was midnight, the time of night people shouldn't be wandering about the forests, where those nocturnal creatures that roam these forests come out to play. Creatures like the wolf.

The waves quietly crashed against the rocks below the cliff, foaming white around the spot the rock touched the ocean. It was a soothing sound, which fit into the tranquility of the silence of the night, a brief sound, followed by a softer, more quiet swish. Of course, the wind whistled softly, too, creating the same quiet sounds as the black ocean. Still, it was peaceful, tranquil. Something that many people needed, or wanted. Even still, it was midnight, the time of night owls hunted mice, raccoons scavenge for food. The time of night for the wolf. 

The night wore on, time on the invisible clock ticking by as slow as it could manage. But, at this time of night, when all was quiet and where everything was meant to be, who seriously knew, or honestly cared, about how much time had passed? Who cared, but the wolf? The moon still sat, bright and magnificent, in the starry night sky. The quiet rush of the waves still whispered below, the wind still whistling to a soft melody created by the twinkling rhythm of the stars. Time seemed never-ending, a fortunate omen. Soon, midnight turned into midnight-thirty, but still, the scenery never changed. It was still just as beautiful as it would be once the sun began to peek above the horizon in just a few short hours from now.

A lone, but brief, howl shattered the stillness of the night. A longer, more desperate howl followed close behind, its pitch in frequency much lower than the one before; the wolf was awake. A master of stealth, always lurking in the forests, awaiting, just awaiting, for the right moment to strike. A supreme primitive creature, wise and full of knowledge only he could show. A pack hunter, a canine lost without members of the group, the family, the only support system. But yet, it was still the wolf.

It was closer than anticipated, its lonely howl no more than approximately six hundred yards away, the length of six football fields, back to back. It howled again, howling to the still twinkling stars on that black blanket, maybe

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