Wolves slip quietly through the night,
silent shadows, on paths of forest pine.
Seeking and searching, yellow eyes bright,
white fur glistening in moonlight's shine.
Stars, sparkling high, in midnight skies,
as wind blows cold through tree branches.
Childhood stories, believed frightning lies,
told in warmth, by the fires ashes.
"Quick, bar the door, close the shutter,
and bring the dogs in by the fire."
See how the candles spit and sputter,
as wild howling, echos, across the Shire.
The fell winter of the white wolf begins,
and life becomes, what once were legends.