The moon shone full.

The light outside, soft silver against the overriding darkness of the shadow, served only to show stark definition, colour faded in its gossamer touch. Yet - enough, enough to fill the heart, enough to cleanse the soul, enough to raise muzzle to the ripe moon and howl. Enough to feel the exultation, enough to feel the tug of the hunt, the wild abandon of the wolf within. Enough to make the grin grow wide and broad, the secret joke shared between predator and prey from time's beginning half-spoken somewhere deep within the soul.

And yet - all was quiet. Contented.

Below, the mate (wife!) slept, the children (pups!) nestled into blanket and matress. The soul-sister was not home yet, no, but her presence felt below, somewhere out in the city, still warm and alive. Pack-brother worked unknowing in his hospital - this was not /his/ moon. /Home/. /Pack/. Family.

A sweet song in the soul, a touch of the Summer Country here on the broad Earth itself, the rage dancing with the moon's touch within. A quiet time, in these days, a quiet time indeed. The body vibrates with quiet, humms within it, distrusts it - but when the moon touches, the body quiets, the mind exults.

No matter what else may fall, it was /his/, this moon. This moment, a perfect moment amongst a thousand perfect moments.

A howl for rememberance, a howl for joy, a howl for love.

The moon shone full.