The night the sky flamed orange,
the trees bowed to the earth with respect;
pine needles littering the forest floor,
a spongy rest for my weary feet.
The wind howled with me.
The storm rolled in soft and quiet as I slept;
the storm that you have always kept.
My eyes blacked out the world;
my bed of pine needles served as the clouds might, could I lay on them.
I, the white one sleeping, next to my heart's treasure.
The tall pines waved and danced in the canopy of the sky,
releasing their sweet resin scent to paint my heart in the light of starry forest midnight.
The winds bent my pines and scattered my bed of long-dead needles,
and just like that she was gone.
I rose from my throne to search my sanctuary for the treasure that held my heartbeat within its confines.
Nowhere could I find her, though I ran without reserve,
paws pulling the great landscape beneath my feet: I flew through the trees...
and there you stood, my antithesis.
Black against my soil-stained White.
Eyes glinting to reflect my mirror image;
and against your shadowy coat the sky came down...
and the forest set ablaze.
The smoke and flame destroying all it touched,
apocalypse from your fingertips.
Solitary, next to me, though all else was gone, and her along with it all;
untouched, one lullaby rose shimmered into bloom.
For I, the White Wolf sleeping.