“The Wolf Who Learned to Want I ran the ridge for every scent I named, Hunted the hollow, took what the hollow gave; Under the moon I was quick, and never blamed, Never once fed, though I filled the cave. Grey years I called it hunger: it was skill. Every chase a habit, every kill a chore. Rest found me. Fur gone soft upon the hill, Now something stirs I never knew before: Older than teeth, it does not chase. It waits. Want, at last, and I am through the gates.” 🐺 youtu.be/DjcCQsRCHUs