The Moon, Our Mother

We are the hunters whose eyes shine with the moon behind them. Thick fur bristling terror in the midnight winds. Running. Sprinting. Chasing. Hunting our fleeing prey in our poweful strides. Tearing the earth with our iron claws and vicious intent. Our haunting calls cut through the starry night, riding the wind, praising the moon. We fight for our terra. We stalk, unknown by others. We are a pack.