It had been months since he had last seen the Moon, nestled in darkness, entangled in stars, enveloped in rapture.
The Wolf had missed the Moon dearly, he had taken it's beauty and splendor for granted, never once truly thanking it for all it had provided, overlooking it's majesty. He understood that the Moon did not need him. It waxed and waned when it chose to, it was full and was crescent when it pleased, but it never once needed him.
He had grown tired of the Sun. The Sun was beautiful in its own way, but did not provide the same candor that the Moon did. The Sun stayed for longer, revealed all for the Wolf to see, it even warmed his fur where the Moon would not.
Thoughts passed through his head, deep thoughts of longing and mourning. He wished so much with every ounce of his animal ferocity that the Moon would return. He wanted so badly for the moon to return to his eyes, to illuminate the darkest and coldest of nights, a companion to serenade, a lover to whisper secrets to.
Why? Why had the Wolf been so drawn to the Moon? The Sun was so much more loving, the Sun gave and asked nothing in return, while the Moon silently demanded tribute. The Sun never asked to be sung to, the Sun was never in the company of millions of stars, all millennia of years older in friendship than the Wolf. The Sun was never as fickle as to change shape when it pleased; No, the Sun was always full and gave its all every time.
The cold breeze surfaced again, this time gripping the Wolf. The Wolf had whined and laid his head close to the ground and waited for the breeze to pass by. He closed his eyes and could only imagine the moon. Where and why had it gone? Why had it left him? He ruminated on the myriad of possibilities, only finding doubt in each response he found...
One answer provided clarity.
He wished in a way he had not found the truth, but it seems, it had found him. The Wolf rumbled a low growl at the thought... and accepted the truth. His attraction to the Moon was animalistic in nature. It was sowed into the very fibers of his being. It was a fatal attraction. He was born under the cover of night and would run with the Moon at his back. He was born to be star-crossed lovers with the Moon.
He looked sideways and away from the blanket of night. He resented the truth and the Moon. How could the Moon turn away from him? Had he not shown love to the Moon? Had he not cherished and loved it with all his beast instincts had told him to? The Wolf let out a long sigh... the night was still dark, the stars still hung in the sky, the night wind still biting. The Wolf slowly stood up, sighed again, and shook the dirt off his fur.
He turned to walk home alone, wishing the Moon would stop him, would greet him as he turned away, to catch him in that perfect moment and relinquish all doubts, fears, and angsts.
He continued to walk in the omnipresence of the night.
He would return to the Sun the next day.
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