And then, in total darkness except for a light pole next to their house; it began.
A solitary howl; slow and deep, and then another voice broke out, and another. Until the howls of the wolves filled up the air and sky around us, filling in all the places between the trees and within my own body.
Their deep booms and high yips and guttering throat calls and chanting, fitting together in perfect time. A choir of ghosts. Wailing cries of wandering souls in the night.
Then, without any sign of a change, they crescendo, all howls becoming one. The voice of a great and ancient god, a sound that makes my very atoms vibrate.
There is not an instrument made by the hands of man that could come close to creating the sound of a wolf crying. A familiar call to my soul.
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