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The lone wolf crawled into a tight, empty corner of his cave, wedging himself among the jagged rocks to feel some kind of cloak to shroud that lonely feeling. While he cemented himself between the cold cave floor and the craggy ceiling, he recalled the past, found memories of sharing this cave with his mate, and was inundated with sorrow. He could not help but shudder at these once-beautiful memories, shared with another, and, in doing so, he felt the sharp, forlorn bite of stone that dug into his back from above, a reminder of his all-too-current, desolate existence. The lone wolf felt terribly lonely.

It was not always like this, the feeling of abandonment, isolation, and sadness. There was a time when the cave was filled with life, with joy, with companionship. A time when he had his beautiful, loving mate. Another wolf to run with in their domain, to howl at the moon with, to endure the pain of the harsh, unforgiving wild, and, most importantly, to snuggle cozzily upon the cold cave floor until their warmth became one.

In these moments, the wolf was the happiest, sharing the hunt and the rest with his wolf mate. The steady comfort and love of another by his side through every phase of the moon brought a bright howl to his spirit. But that bright howl soon fell to a hushed howl.

The one thing he loved most, the one wolf that gorged him with joy and love, that one bright full moon became dark and was no longer there. A new moon was upon him, where now he faced the dark, empty cave on his own. No light would shine upon him that was as bright as his mate, no glow to summon back that bright howl. He was just a lonely wolf with no howl.

The lone wolf sat in his empty cave, defeated by love’s absence, hollowed of life’s joys. He could not pass another day without the one he loved. He lifted his muzzle to the new moon, hushed and broken though it was, casting his lament into the darkness, hoping against hope that somewhere in the vast wilderness, she might hear his call and find her way back home to him.