THE WOLVES WHO HOWLED AT THE MOON
In the snow-laden forests of the Scottish Highlands, where the wind whispers through the pines and night can stretch for days, there lived a pack of wolves led by Arthur and Eleanor, a pair bound not just by blood, but by a tale the elder trees still murmur of.
Arthur had been a lone wolf when he found her. Hed lost his first pack to an avalanche, and since then, he wandered aimlessly, avoiding men, hunters, and other wolves. His heart was a tangle of unhealed wounds.
Eleanor appeared one moonless nightthin, limping, one ear torn, her eyes alight with fury but no fear. She was a strong she-wolf, exiled from another pack for defying the alpha to protect her pups. Shed lost them, but not her pride.
Arthur didnt attack. Nor did he flee. They simply stared, and in that frozen silence, they recognized each other: two broken hearts still brave enough to beat.
From that day, they hunted together. Slept back-to-back. Learned to trust, slowly, in their wild way. There was no I love you, no ceremony. Just companionship, respect, and a loyalty that asked no proof.
Years passed. They raised their own pack. Had cubs. Taught the young ones not to fear the snow or the dark. Arthurs howls were long and deep, like drums in the chest of the forest. Eleanors were sharp and high, like icicles shattering the air.
But when they howled together the sky listened.
Biologists say wolves howl for territory or to call their kin. But the old shepherds of the Highlands know another truth: some wolves howl for love.
One cruel winter, Arthur never returned from a hunt. Eleanor searched for days. Howled each night from the highest crag. But he didnt come back. She found only tracks in the snow, vanishing into a ravine.
Eleanor didnt eat. Didnt hunt. Just climbed the crag at dusk and let out her cry. Short. Piercing. Unyielding.
Until one night, beneath the shimmering northern lights, an answer came.
A deep howl. Distant. Familiar.
Scientists claimed it was another maleperhaps challenging her, seeking to claim her place.
But Eleanor didnt snarl. She sat on the crag, closed her eyes, and howled as she had the first time.
And in that moment, the winds stilled. The snow hung midair. And a twin howl, perfect and unbroken, wrapped around the glen like a sacred hymn.
At dawn, she was gone.
Shepherds found the crag empty. Only footprintsside by sideled away toward the mountains peak. As if two wolvesone unseenhad walked together, merging with the horizon.
Now, every winter, when the first heavy snow falls, Arthur and Eleanors children howl at the sky. Not from fear. Not to call home.
But because wild love leaves tracks even when the wind tries to erase them.