Black Wolf

There´s a story the Old ones tell. It´s the story about to wolves, fighting inside a person´s soul. Should the white wolf win, the soul is saved. If the black wolf wins, well, we all know what happens. The thing is, the Old ones fear the black wolf, but they never understood him. The black wolf is a lonely one. He is, as Bradbury put it: THE lonely one. It does not prey, or hunt. The black wolf merely absorbs one´s feeling. It´s not its fangs one must be careful of, for it does not devour its victims. It´s the heart. For the black wolf smells doubt from a thousand paces, and it does not rest until it finds a new heart to settle in. The black wolf, my dear, is not a curse, or a disease. It is the embodiment of the most primal instincts of men, long ago forgotten, waiting to resurface again. It embodies the wild, the unknown, the forbidden. The Old ones fear it, for they don´t understand it. So beware, my child, of the black wolf, for if one day it chases you, you´ll find yourself choosing between mankind, and freedom.