The Arctic Wolf Sings

The cold wind ruffles my thick white pelt, driving snow into my furred face. I narrow my golden eyes and continue padding through the thick snow. My large paws are spread so I do not fall through the thin layer of ice covering the deep snow banks. Scenting the frosty air, I smell a dead caribou and head towards the warm scent. As I trudge on, my breath forms small puffs of smoke when I exhale. Finally the brown form becomes visible. I trot over to it, growling at the Arctic fox feasting upon the dead creature’s entrails. The fox, intimidated by my size and sharp fangs, turns tail and runs off. I turn back to the carcass, burying my muzzle in the warmth, tearing at the flesh to satisfy my hunger. Once I have eaten my fill, I sit back on my haunches and raise my bloody muzzle to the sky. Filling my lungs with air, I howl to the Arctic skies: I am here, the white wolf, spirit of the frozen tundra! Hear my cry!