Ouroboros Spine Chaménos

Evening had covered the land in shadow and the chirps of bugs could be heard from the foliage.

Sandy legs carried a lean young wolf, not yet a year of age but hardened and sharp. The dark blue of his eyes matched the unearthly blue that hung on the horizon, just where the sun had slipped out of view and where night had started to claim the skies.

Antigone could smell the scents of wolves. None of them were familiar. At least, he did not believe they were familiar. The pack carried an aroma of strength, of healthy numbers.

The young wolf’s howl was a melancholy sound on the air. Intended for anyone who would greet him at the borders.