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The moon rises slowly, lending its light to the shadows, and silently he waits, stalking his prey. As it rises to the
crest of the gorge there is movement. Has his moment of glory come? But no, it is not He - the one he waits for. Only the
trees speak in the darkness of night. Time lends its face to the shadows and only they know when He will appear.
The moon crests and carefully He comes forth to bask in its light. Black shadow becomes silver as He raises His head
to sniff the air. The wonders of the night beckon Him to come forth and prowl. He hesitates but the lure is too powerful,
it calls His soul - He must obey. Forward He steps, out of the shadow darkness, revealing His majestic glory. It is the moment
the one who watches has been waiting for. A glint of steel, a loud retort and He falls where He stands at the edge of the
gorge. The waiting one is content and passes into the dark in silence the way he came.
Hours pass and still She waits for Her mate to rise and signal Her to come to His side. She knows not which has happened
or why. Slowly She creeps out, cautiously, for danger might be near. Nose to nose She touches Him but His presence is gone,
never to return. The silence calls, waiting to be broken. She rises and shakes. Then forward She goes, to the edge of the
gorge. The moon surrounds Her and tilting Her head She signals the presence of Man with the Howl of the Wild.
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