Dire wolf in the grass lands of Northern America
The summer is nearly over. Today I can hunt longer; from before the sun rises till the sun bakes me in the meadow.
I run to catch the flock of wild birds that dropped down from the sky. Such a noise they make. I run faster, up and over logs, taking giant leaps. They squawk even louder as they flap their giant wings and take up, back into the sky. I sit and watch them disappear over the tree tops. The grass beneath my feet is dry here in the meadow so I look to the trees and the shadows between the great trunks where I know I will touch the wetness once again.
I was born in the shadows. The closeness of the earth is a familiar feeling that draws me back. Familiarity is so comforting to me. I begin to trot towards the tree line and watch the shadows for movement. I listen to the sounds and pick my way forward, forever smelling all the things that have come and gone before me as I go.
As I move forward I read the air, the smells of all live are breathed up into my skull. I miss nothing. My head turns, my eyes search, my ears hear, as this is my way, this is who I am, Dire Wolf !
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Humans should me so lucky to experience this feeling. I can sense it to some degree thru Citara’s outdoor -into the woods feelings.
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