When It Howls

There it was. Right there. The wolf was there just like it had been for the first half of my life. Silently gazing towards me. Perfectly still. And while I knew it was a wolf, not a tame dog, I still longed for it to come closer. I knew it wasn't a 'werewolf.' I had no desire for it to turn into a strikingly handsome boy, who was set on making me his. It was a wolf. A wolf that stood outside my home, with just his head and chest showing from the woods. Cloaked in shadows that blended in with his solid black coat. He was just an ordinary wolf. He always came. And he always stayed. Staring with his golden eyes. He stayed in one spot. Never moving. He came at nine in the evening and only left when the white wolf stood beside him, then turned and left. This had been consistently happening for eight years. The black wolf coming at nine, the white wolf taking him at eleven. Every single night. Faithfully. As if by nature. And once a month, as the black wolf turned to leave, he would howl.