Tired eyes observed the air carrying hues of winter, shrouded in greys and whites, as the morning mists lifted; shooed away by an impatient tired sun. Her fur bristled—yet again. Bad hair days are really bad for a wolf. The ebb and flow of the dance had left her tired. Old unknown wounds pinched and pained, and then healed. Just sleep. Just more sleep was all she needed. But before she could even finish her yawn, a new song forced her attention. There were no drum beats, no tip-tap patterns. A song like steel. A song like ice and fire. A song that hummed so deeply it tore at the last big wound. Ripped it open. The tear—an earthquake—set free a howl so ancient, so abyssal it lacerated through space and time.
And then her body shifted. Convulsions shook her whole being, while tears of liberation ran. Washing away the pain. Washing away the grief. Washing away the self-loathing. Pelage carried away by autumn-wind left skin smooth and pale like alabaster. Gone the claws. Teeth no longer sectorial. Sharp eyes, still amber, took in their surroundings, like never seen before.
For ultimate protection: Stand tall within yourself.
Upright she was bigger, stronger than any she-wolf possibly could be. So much stronger. In such a short time. Just because the song tore the wound—this new, old, familiar song. Naked she stood in golden autumn light. Reds, yellows, browns, shaded her view of the blue sky. Goosebumps now without the pelt. She turned around. Her claymore rusty after centuries in the cave. Strong hands on cold steel. Time to battle. Time to heal. I am the light. I am the truth. No place for frost-giants. These souls shall be mine. Warriors of light.
+++++++++ first draft++++++++++++