Wolf of the Cedar Coast

Wolf stands where the forest breathes,
fur pale as coastal fog,
eyes holding the memory
of tides older than names.
Cedar smoke clings to his silence.
Blue markings trace the language
between bone and spirit—
paths walked by ancestors
when the world was still listening.
He does not chase the storm.
He moves with it.
In his stillness lives the law of the pack:
no one survives alone,
no one walks without watching
over the ones behind.
When night settles on moss and water,
Wolf lifts his gaze—not to howl,
but to remember
who the people are,
and where they belong.