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Before rains washed his traces away, and mist blurred his silhouette, once more he looked at these faces with his stare piercing like bayonet. One last time the moon shook with fear upon his howling as he was leaving his herd. That frightening howling was supposedly never again to be heard. Solitude brought ease to his soul, it was his hidden, secret fane. Day or night - he roamed the woods, northern winds caressed his mane. They who walked past him looked down in fear of meeting his glance. His eyes stared ahead - towards his goals, and pride filled his stance. But now he's coming back, the missing outcast - after lone wolves he was named. The Once and Future King of the woods has finally matured enough to be tamed. And so the moon shall shake again - his voice is back, it's dreadful and loud. The Lone Wolf is home again, back to lead his herd - once prideful, now proud.