Night of the Wolf
Chapter One
The wolf awoke. He lifted his head from his paws. Above, the moon
was full, but only a drifting ghost through the mixed pine and cedar
on the mountainside. The rest of the pack slept.
He alone felt the touch of ... he knew not what. Wolves don't
grieve. Not even for themselves.
He rose and went through the rite of fur straightening, then drifted
down silently to a stream formed by overflow from a lake above. It
was just wide enough to mirror the sky in its water.
Since she died ... no, since she was killed, he had awakened every
night at this hour, an hour when all else sleeps ... remembering.
The night has rhythms of its own. Rhythms that resonate in the
flesh, blood, and bones of all earth's creatures. Man, alone, has
forgotten them, forgotten they ever mattered.
But to the wolf, they came as memories, memories not his own,
fragments of a dream. He touched an immortal consciousness as old as
life, the experience of a creature not yet self-aware and so
immortal. The first of our kind, swimming in the water column of the
Cambrian sea. At this time in the night, it ceased th ... read full excerpt from Night of the Wolf ebook
