Friday, September 18, 2015

Abigails Chronicles of The Lone Wolf.

She stood at the edge of dawn watching, waiting, praying that the crest of the moon would show.  The night was hers.
She owed her soul to the night. Della called on the wind to blow and cover whispers of the night that were commanding her to run. Rubbing her shoulders she turned and sat down.
The solace of the night wrapped around her and made her warm.  She could almost hear the trees roaring in agony as the ice and snow became one with the branches weighing them down and tormenting there delicate limbs almost breaking them.  
Howling as loud as she could she cried out in to the dark. When no answer came she walking back inside the cabin and closed the door. Tonight she would rest. Tomorrow she would fight.
She was the lone wolf.


© Abigail Madison Chase

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