In the snowy woods of the Scottish Highlands, where the wind whistles through the pines and the nights stretch endlessly, there lived a pack of wolves led by Rowan and Elaraa pair bound not just by blood, but by a tale the old forest still remembers.
Rowan was a lone wolf when he found her. Hed lost his old pack in a blizzard and had wandered ever since, avoiding humans, hunters, and other wolves. His heart was a tangle of scars that never quite healed.
Elara appeared on a moonless nightthin, limping, with one ear torn and eyes blazing with fury but no fear. She was a fierce she-wolf, exiled from another pack for standing up to the alpha to protect her pups. Shed lost them, but not her pride.
Rowan didnt attack. He didnt run. They just stared. And in that frozen silence, they recognized each other: two broken hearts still brave enough to keep beating.
From that day, they hunted together. Slept back-to-back. Learned to trust, bit by bit, in their own wild way. There were no grand declarations, no rituals. Just companionship, respect, and a loyalty that needed no proof.
Over the years, they built their own pack. Raised cubs. Taught the young ones not to fear the snow or the dark. Rowans howls were deep and resonant, like drums echoing through the trees. Elaras were sharp and bright, like ice shattering in the air.
But when they howled together the sky listened.
Scientists 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 bitter winter, Rowan never returned from a hunt. Elara searched for days. Every night, she howled from the highest cliff. But he didnt come back. All she found were tracks vanishing into the ravine.
Elara stopped eating. Stopped hunting. She just climbed that cliff each dusk and let out her cryshort, piercing, relentless.
Until one night, under the Northern Lights, an answer came.
A deep howl. Distant. Familiar.
Experts claimed it was just another malemaybe challenging her, maybe claiming her place.
But Elara didnt snarl or snap. She sat on the cliff, closed her eyes, and howled like she had the very first time.
And in that moment, the winds stilled. The snow paused midair. A perfect, twin howl wrapped around the valley like a hymn.
At dawn, she was gone.
Shepherds found the cliff empty. Only two sets of paw printsside by sideled toward the mountains peak. As if two wolvesone unseenhad walked together until they melted into the horizon.
Now, every winter when the first heavy snow falls, Rowan and Elaras pups lift their voices to the sky. Not from fear. Not to call the pack.
But because wild love leaves footprints even if the wind tries to erase them.
