"There's a moon over burbon street tonight...
I see faces, eyes they pass beneath the pale limelight...
I've no choice but to follow that call-
The bright lights, the people, and the moon and all..."

Who am I?  he thought, as the darknening silence shrouded the morning streets in an embrace that left even the sounds of his shoes on the pavement muffled.  His lone eye tracked upward, mirroring gold the full moon's glow below.  Beneath his heart, the wolf exulted, cried out for release- but not here, not now.  Not in the streets of the city.

The molten wash of silver from the pregnant moon left his sight reeling, the recent rain leaving sheens of icy light over cracked asphalt and newly-laid concrete.  His wander was aimless, his thoughts turning to events as they passed - the Manhater, Ab-ten-Ma'at called TrothKeeper- even the fortune-teller and the Theologian.. and Stacee.  Always it came back to Stacee.  The new little one, the children.  The wolf rose in pride.. he found himself idly swinging around a lamppost, a puppy on a lark- the children.  Forever the children- his own pack, his own den, his own family.

He stopped that thought in mid-motion- too dangerous, on the full moon, to let the wolf so close to the surface.  Better to think of her as something else- a mate.. no.. a wife.  A human term.  The children are children, not pups..

"The brim of my hat hides the eye of a beast..
I've the face of a sinner.. but the hands of a priest.
I pray every day to be strong..
but I know what I do must be wrong...."

He crossed the road and wandered an aimless left.  But there is the wolf....  He let his mind wander, then.. events of the past slipping out of his accurssed recall and showing themselves against the backdrop of building and brick- the battles, the friends, the enemies- time lost.  Packs come and gone, the scent of blood.  The hunt.. these things were of him too, and when the moon shone, they called to him.  A sweet melody.. one that sent him pacing even though it worried her, one that called him to wander even though he had no intention of leaving.  He scented at the air- tentative, really, and smiled.  Not a nice, smile, though- a feral smile that harkened to that song.. My mate is that.. but she does not truly understand.  He flashed white teeth in the darkness. I must.. it is of me.  Part of me.  Though I hate to worry her so..  But then.. perhaps she did.  She never questioned, never pried.  But would that he could explain..

He found the darkness of an alley, and called it comforting.  From the darkness, he peered out at the empty street, absently dragging his fingertips along the brick of the wall next to him, the side of a building.  A gilded cage of concrete.  His nose wrinkled, the feral smile showing.  He looked up at that wall.. Two-legs, weaver things..  The wolf within sang its exultation and rage.

"No you'll never see my face..
Hear the sound of my feet...
While there's a moon over Burbon Street.."

He slowly, slowly, closed his fist, revelling in the song of his blood, his heart.  And then he sighed, softly.. opening that single eye to allow its blazing gold to pan across the alley, to compose himself as human again.  A deep breath, then two..

And he turned away, walking home, catching his bearings.  To his wife, his mate, his pups, his children.  Wolves within the weaver, night beasts with day jobs.  And the wolf within whined.