The lone wolf stood upon the precipice which looked over the magnificent valley below. It was dusk, as the last illumination of the sun receded below the western horizon.
This was his domain, and he was the alpha male of his pack, yet had turned his back upon them to make his way through the wilderness alone.
Still, he was lonely, and longed for a mate.
Upon the horizon the moon began to rise. From a distance the wolf could be viewed sillouetted upon her full face.
The wolf was compelled to throw his voice across the valley, and sanctify his place among all the rocks, trees, and animals, and especially his brothers and sisters who he missed.
Maybe they would hear his voice and come to him.
Illuminated in lunar glory the lone wolf began to trumpet. He trumpeted and trumpeted continuously.
It was not long before the trumpeting of wolves could be heard across the entire valley, as all his brothers and sisters were trumpeting in his honor, and trumpeting for each other, and just trumpeting in the joy of being alive.

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Love, Michael, The Valkyrie