The Lone Wolf
There once was a lone wolf. Long ago, he left any and all other wolves behind. For he found that life among them was tedious and mundane. Also, none of the other wolves cared much for his company, his words, or his thoughts.
So, he set out on his own and had many great adventures all across the land. But, one night, as he was resting upon a cliff near the sea, he was awoken by the moon. The moon was producing poems of moonlight that moved the lone wolf. For he had never experienced such beautiful words in the form of moonbeams.
The wolf gave praise to the moon and returned words. Words of kindness and kinship. Words that made the wolf feel like he had found a true friend. The first one in a very long time. He had thought he had no need of friends or company, but the moon made him feel like that was no longer true. Though strong from solitude, the wolf allowed himself to feel a not-often-felt connection.
For a while, the moon and the lone wolf shared words, but soon the lone wolf realized that he was not the only wolf the moon shared words with. For on many occasions, the moon drifted away in the sky to distant cliffs and peaks, to share words with other wolves.
The lone wolf understood. He knew that the moon’s words were so beautiful, and its appearance so pleasant, that any and all wolves would howl at it for attention. Though the lone wolf did not howl for the moon to return when it went away, for he knew that the moon had good reason to have many friends.
For the lone wolf knew from his conversations with the moon that it was also lonely. For there was but one moon in the sky. Where else would they find company? Who else would it share words with? The lone wolf also knew that many friends were more exciting than a single one, so the moon’s decision to spend time with many other wolves instead of him made sense.
But the lone wolf still fell strange. As if he had something taken away from him. He did not fret or howl at the moon to return, but instead rested upon his lone cliff. On occasion, the moon would appear before him to speak and deliver poems written in moonbeams, and when it did he was ready to return the prose and poetry.
But these visits were short and becoming fewer and farther in between, for the moon was becoming popular. The lone wolf smiled to himself as he saw the moon travel from cliff to cliff. From peak to peak, he watched as the moon made many new friends and shared many beautiful words.
But alone he rested upon the cliff. Occasionally visited by the moon. He was content, in a melancholy way. Content that his only friend was happy, regardless of the circumstances.