#wolf holothere

I was to be raised under a roof with tender care, medicine, and food ... I was raised to be a good dog, I understood this. I have no illness towards those who saw a dog and took care of my fur and made sure my stomach was full,

Yet, one day as a growing pup, I was allowed outside for the first time, I no longer was under that roof and I was able to lock eyes with the moon, stars, and vast black sky,

I would sharply inhale and feel how it tasted like the cleanest water I ever had the pleasure of breathing, how vapor danced when I exhaled, painting the scene. That's the first time I felt a true spark underneath my paws, my heart raced, I yearned so deeply to explore ... but I knew the warnings of the wild. I am a good dog I did not run away

Yet, nothing was ever the same for me again.

It became a routine. I would step outside, breathe the freedom presented to me, and go back inside. Each daydream, each urge, each feeling felt stronger, more vivid, more wild as the days passed,

I remember one night I would sit down and watch the stars, clouds illuminated by the moon's light slowly pass by, I would think,

The wild is wild. I am not. I know the dangers of illness and disease that'd put me on the spot. I know of the claws, the teeth, the fight, and yet I still can't ignore the way my heart begged me to run, to disappear into the night. I knew of the bloodshed, the hardships, the hunger and drought, and yet I could still imagine myself being out there, under nature's mercy, devout. Despite knowing I would die in the winter's brutal cold, I still yearned to suffer, to fight, and to live, to be bold.

Then I knew. I understood. That's when I would walk inside and take a real look at myself and look myself directly in the eye ... I knew I was no dog. I grew up as such, raised well, yet directly looking back at me was a wild beast,

I was plump with warm food and my fur was well groomed, I had rested eyes, and I was warm in the winter's air. I had everything anyone could ever need and yet, why do I still yearn for the worse of the worse and hardships that carry out in the woods? In the mountains?

Why am I more content with the thought of dying in the grass, bleeding out after a lost fight, dying to illness, dying alone under the stars over dying in a warm wooden house? Why do I yearn for the chance to die outside over living inside where I'll be safe? Why can't I be happy with what I got instead of wishing I had less of a luxury of humanity but more of the natural brutality of beast?

Happy start of the supermoon and Therianthropy Day to all! We can see the moon from our room now, and were we not bound by the fact that people are sleeping, we’d be howling. Feeling that wonderful lack of inhibition (and thank FUCK that we have auto correct, the paws can not computer) from the moon high we get as a physical werewolf.

eye reveal

ik this trend has long passed but .. i couldn’t help myself :03