The Cry of the Moon

All throughout the forest, one could hear the howling. It echoed through the dark: the deep, mournful call of the howler longing for his lover. The howl was one of longing. Of sorrow. Of separation. This was the curse upon the forest, that every night it would hear and weep alongside the black wolf, Fenris, for the one who had been stolen from them. 


The full moon loomed heavily over the black tree tops that stretched their branches up into the night sky, as if to touch the stars that speckled the darkness like fairy dust thrown to the wind. The river burbled in the distance, a force that chipped away at the rocks and foliage day by day, binding the forest to its will through determination alone. The wind whistled as it blew through the trees, their fingers full of leaves waving at the moon in the breeze. For the trees and the wind also begged her to come down, as did the howler. So they would not feel the howler’s sorrow anymore. 


For the forest longed for her as much as he did. 


Deep in the woods, past the babbling river and the trees and the woodland creatures that felt his cries, Fenris stood upon the jagged rocks overlooking the waterfall as it crashed into the valley below. He stood on all fours, his coarse black fur bristling in the wind as he arched his neck upwards. He bellowed his mournful cry into the sky as loud as he could, drowning out all other sounds so that only his call remained. Tears streamed down his face, wetting the black fur and soaking his heavy neck until he was silent once more, panting through his jagged teeth.  


The forest was still, for a moment, in the wake of his sorrow. 


And in this stillness, Fenris crept closer to the edge of the cliff. He edged as close as he could to the sky and the bright white sphere that flooded the forest with light before him. She appeared so close tonight. It almost looked as though if he were to jump off the cliff, perhaps he would be able to touch her one last time.


But he knew he could not. 


He knew she was cursed to be seen but never touched again.


As he was cursed.


So he arched his neck, reaching to the sky and staring into her glowing face once again before he closed his eyes and drew a deep breath. 


And he howled.


He howled to reach the heavens against all odds so that, perhaps, she could hear him.


My Love, Mi Amore, I cry for you. 




Copyright: Jennifer K Fuka, 2019

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