Chosen a path of self-righteousness, no one can hurt me; I'm too quick to quess. Strangers hear my nightly ululation and reason: it must be due to the lonely season. She must feel desolate without pack or kin, after all she's merely an omega with no path to cling. She must regret her decision for isolation, pray that it isn't too late to learn humility and defer--shall we accept her if she does? Let her swallow her pride first.
They don't know why I choose to perambulate, why I ignore posits to obeisance. I am not dogmatic by nature, this mask from birth exists to deceive, who I am from everyone but me. Until the day my legs grow weak, my claws warn of their erosion; and before me appears the bridge of crossing. Or the day nature seizes to guide me and a wholeness can be reached; for there my soul will await me and together we'll live for an eternity.