Conscience as clear as crystal

A stranger on these inviting lands of lush, green meadows and breathtaking mountain scenes, the wolven stole across the clearing, as silent and swift as shadow. At first glance, it may have been mistaken for a male, with its broad-set shoulders, packed with muscles that pulsed steadily beneath the sleek pelt. However, closer examination would have revealed the slim maw and narrow, determined eye-slits, crowned with a ring of thick lashes. Her majestic scruff, streaked with tan and gold, swayed in the fluctuating breeze and shuddered with every pound of her paws on the beaten earth. After banishing herself from her home, her sole concern was on flight from her past, which could be discarded, but not fully erased from her troubled mind. However, the un-tethered feelings discovered through her wild race for freedom could not release her memories from their cell, bound and tortured by guilt. Though, pain from experiences can make us stronger and stop us from making the same mistakes again…

Though, the femme pondered, that mirrors the life of all great beings. Like a beautiful dawn, they brighten our world but for a moment and then pass like a shower on a Summer’s day, leaving a few drops of goodness behind, which can be so easily dried up and left unnoticed amongst the thousands of other dew drops. A laboured sigh escaped the labria of the femora, as her pinnae swivelled to flop back, resting beside her hunched blades. So what was to come of her life? Would he ever be remembered after her death? If so, what was the point? What was the benefit of being renowned among wolves for centuries if nothing was to come of it for her? What was the reason for her existence? Are wolves meant to do nothing but fight to be remembered in songs and legends, fight for something positive to be made from all their efforts? She was lost anyway, doomed to live a pointless existence…no medicine could heal the harm she had caused…

“Come on then, scum! Come have your sweet revenge…!”

At her words, a cackle of crows lifted from the treetops of a nearby copse. The great mass of dark wings, flapping madly to keep airborne, blocked out the sun, bathing the femora in shadow. It was as if the light had been extinguished, snuffed out like a dying candle flame.

As the sky cleared, so did the femme’s mind, bringing forth the brighter and returning her to near sanity.