The Hunt

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Fantasy  |  House: Booksie Classic
Through the eyes of a werewolf.

Submitted: March 13, 2008

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Submitted: March 13, 2008

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“The Hunt”

My white fur bristles in the wind.

My golden eyes fierce in the dark.

I stare toward the moon,

As I question what lies ahead.

My paws hit the ground but I don’t feel it,

I’m moving to fast to feel anything.

I can’t feel the wind,

My eyes burn with intensity,

And I don’t stare at the moon,

But at my journey that lay ahead.

No I don’t hunt prey,

Although I hunt to survive,

This hunt is different,

I’m hunting for my destiny and nothing else.

My white fur is stained with mud,

My golden eyes burn with sleep,

I stare at the ground because I’m tired,

My paws hit the ground and no longer feel swift but heavy.

I must stop but I cannot.

I’m so tired I can’t hold on

I’m so weary my life is stopping,

It’s slowing down,

It burns as I stop,

But if you don’t burn at least

Once,

You’ll never make it toward your

Destiny.

If you never get your hands dirty

At least Once,

You’ll never make it toward your

Destiny.

If you never become weary

At least Once,

You’ll never make it toward your

Destiny.

If you never hunt on your own,

You’ll never find,

What you’re looking for.


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