[
Above him, the moon is cold and indifferent, casting shadows on his fur, bathing him in silver. Full moon, endless possibilities, washing him clean, letting him remember. Pictures, always pictures-- simple, laid out like a map in his mind, and this makes him feel slightly better, the wolf cotrolling the human.
Rain falls, but he doesn't notice, too intent on the run too pay any attention. Smells a cat down an alley, and wonders whether to chase it (blood warm in his mouth, simple the way he wants things to be), before flattening his ears and continuing onwards.
Above him, the moon is full, the only thing in his life that will never leave him. He tilts his head back, throat bared (rip out his throat, if only), and howls. Tonight he howls for his lost mate, howls because he misses the warmth of fur next to him, the comfort of another being running beside him through the night.
(Howling is singing, he remembers telling Sirius after a transformation years and years ago, his throat raw from that night. Sirius had called him the musical wolf after that.)
Wolves grieve in simple ways (songs at night and exile from the pack) and for that Remus is grateful.
[A/N: Yes, that was craptastic. But review anyway, please.]
Above him, the moon is cold and indifferent, casting shadows on his fur, bathing him in silver. Full moon, endless possibilities, washing him clean, letting him remember. Pictures, always pictures-- simple, laid out like a map in his mind, and this makes him feel slightly better, the wolf cotrolling the human.
Rain falls, but he doesn't notice, too intent on the run too pay any attention. Smells a cat down an alley, and wonders whether to chase it (blood warm in his mouth, simple the way he wants things to be), before flattening his ears and continuing onwards.
Above him, the moon is full, the only thing in his life that will never leave him. He tilts his head back, throat bared (rip out his throat, if only), and howls. Tonight he howls for his lost mate, howls because he misses the warmth of fur next to him, the comfort of another being running beside him through the night.
(Howling is singing, he remembers telling Sirius after a transformation years and years ago, his throat raw from that night. Sirius had called him the musical wolf after that.)
Wolves grieve in simple ways (songs at night and exile from the pack) and for that Remus is grateful.
[A/N: Yes, that was craptastic. But review anyway, please.]