Cold, dark, and the kiss of the ice: a snowflake touching the cheek. The wolf had been here before, many times actually. Always alone, always in pain, though the hurt couldn’t really be seen, though many knew. None of them ever did anything for the wolf. There was a time when the wolf blamed them, not anymore. Far too many times a hand had struck the side of a tortured face; in fear now, he knew because it is what men fear the most. At some point, he had stopped looking outside and started to look inwards. So long had his journey been a search outside, convinced that is where answers lie, a search other people should have done for themselves, a search the wolf had been forced to undertake. Failing every time, with each failure, great chains were placed on the soul, rendering success impossible. Now, once again, the solitude of the dark and cold. But this time, it was different. This time it didn’t hurt as before. Confused, the wolf rose from the shallow depression he had made on the earth, seeking some warmth and respite. The air was cold, yes, the flakes of snow still stung the skin even under the fur, but they didn’t hurt anymore. The chains clinked, but they didn’t cripple him anymore. Curious, he set out into the night to find out why.

Silent as a shadow, he went to many places and saw many things. Always silent, always as a shadow, always alone and cold. By fire camps, he passed, hearing what many had to say, always just beyond the edge of light and warmth. Across cities, he went, always listening without being noticed and moving on. Old temples and forgotten libraries he visited, ancient lessons and lost teachings he learned. Abandoned settlements and forsaken path he cross, listening to the echo of those that came before. As he made his own journey, he was forced time and time again to play other people’s songs, to do some other people’s quests, always failing. And to each defeat, more chains would follow and though heavy, this time they didn’t hurt; they weren’t his, the Wolf learned. And all along the Wolf’s journey alone, learning, understanding. At some point, the Wolf chose a challenge, he chose for himself, by himself. For the first time, he was writing a story all of his own, a tale by himself and for himself. The challenge was dire, the peak to climb great, and the fear of failure stung more than the thousand previous failures. But to face the challenge, he went, with nightmares of the flood ringing in his head. The forest was dark, the foes mighty and terrible, the rules unbending. And he succeeded. Without even noticing, he conquered the peak, without knowing he reached the height and found himself wanting more. As he thought how to proceed, panting and bewildered from his achievement, he heard a song in the ever-night he endured. A moth, flapping in the icy wind, he followed the tune clear and pretty in the desolation of his life. It took him by an outcropping where the creature was enduring. He saw it resting on the rock face; it had the color of the dawn, purple and red and of the night. It jumped from the wall and hid among his fur, using the heat of his body to shield itself. There, shielded from the worst of the cold, he finally reached a conclusion. The journey would have to be alone, but the cold and the wind and the dark could no longer harm him as he had feared for far too long. The tiny moth felt him reach the decision and flapped its wings, making a beautiful ringing noise. He moved and for the first time, he noticed, no chain ringed, no metal clanked over his body, he turned to look at his flanks, there were no chains there to be found, only the marks that they had left behind. Had they fallen during the challenge? No matter, a long and winding path awaited.

Still, as he started down the valley and beyond what he had before, stumbling and hurting from the path, he endured, learning. As he went, he was forced onto one last quest, one last errand for others who couldn’t take it by themselves. And despite trying his best, he failed. And for once, it didn’t hurt. Lesson learned, no more would he take on the quests of others; he wasn’t made to burn for other people. He didn’t know what to expect, though he knew what he wanted: the plains, the strength of his legs, the wind on his face, and many more tales to tell.

Cold, dark, and the kiss of the ice,
A snowflake touching the cheek so nice.
The wolf, alone in pain, many times before,
None did anything, though they knew, he swore.
Blamed them once, not anymore,
Strikes to his face, fear he wore.
Stopped looking out, turned within,
Journey outside, where answers thin.
Chains on the soul, each failure bound,
Solitude of dark, but different sound.
Rose seeking warmth, chains clinked light,
Curious, he ventured into the night.
Silent as a shadow, cold and alone,
By fire camps, heard tales unknown.
Across cities, unnoticed he moved,
Visited temples, ancient teachings grooved.
Forced to play others’ songs, quests to fail,
Heavy chains, yet no more wail.
Alone in learning, journey unfolds,
Chose his challenge, stories untold.
Conquered the peak, fear’s grip released,
Heard a moth’s song, in the darkness ceased.
Conclusion reached, no longer fear’s pawn,
Alone he’ll journey, darkness withdrawn.
No chains bound, marks left behind,
A new path ahead, to unwind.
Down the valley, stumbling he goes,
Learning still, as the cold wind blows.
One last quest, for others he tried,
Failed but not hurt, lesson applied.
No more quests for others’ plight,
His own tales await, in the moon’s light.