The white wolf in the frosted woods
Sends out his faithful cry.
The cool air of the coming dusk
brings silver to the sky.
Around him, snow softly falls,
Icy air silent and cold.
By the mouth of the frozen river,
As the early night takes hold.
His face is scarred and bloodied,
His eyes the deepest blue,
As he casts them high up skyward,
Singing long and true.