dear Woods, I have loved Your shade. I know the shelter of Your boughs. I know the places where You bend to keep the winter from My throat. but I am Wolf, and these are paws that carry scars beneath the fur. the paths beyond Your oldest trees are hard, and I am not so brave. I found an Ember in the dark, a little warmth beneath the pines. I sat beside Its quiet light and felt the cold release its teeth. I did not ask the flame for more. I did not need another home. I only watched the Ember breathe and knew the night could still be kind. dear Forest, I am tired of fear. Your roots have held Me through the storms, yet something in Their tender grip has made the open road feel wrong. I do not want to wound Your trees. I do not want to leave You bare. but every path I cannot take becomes a winter in My chest. the Ember does not call Me out. It does not promise Me a spring. It only shows My scarred old paws that warmth can live beyond Your shade. and now I sit between two truths: I love the woods that know My name. I fear the miles beyond Their edge. I fear the years I might not walk. dear Forest, let Me rest tonight. the Wolf is weary, not yet gone. She lays her scars beside the flame and watches shadows cross the snow. She does not know which way is home. She only knows the night is wide. and somewhere past the sleeping Trees, her paws remember how to run.