Under A Bloody Moon

They used to speak of a bloody moon. The night when the moon turns red. The old men would nod at the story and smoke their pipes. The woman would knit with pretend disinterest and the children would watch the story teller with eyes wide with fear. Now there is no mind paid to the stories. No cautions on full moons and no wide eyed believers. But though word and page fade with time the moon, though always changing, will forever remain the same.

For the moon changes color when blood is split and the bloody moon is the night of the wolves, for the night of the wolves is the night of blood.