The wolves left home kiss by kiss. They took their time. They didn’t run. Days became weeks, weeks became months, months became winter. They roamed the moonlit wood in search of new packs to prowl with, with new tails to curl, new bodies to bump, new howls to harmonise. The pup howled, too; he bit, he barked, he misbehaved. He felt something in the air. The wolves whispered: "Hush, my love, the winter’s not forever", but still the pup cried when he knew they couldn’t hear. "What’s so good about the forest?" he’d ask the moon. He’d ask her: "What’s so great about you?"