Ice Wolf
A phantom carved from biting frost,
he stalks the moonlit, jagged peaks.
His breath is a winter gale,
painting the midnight air with diamond dust.
Beneath frozen paws, the tundra sighs.
He wears no heavy coat,
only the shimmering aurora woven into fur,
and eyes that hold the ancient chill of glaciers.
He needs no pack.
His kin are the falling snow,
the howling north wind,
and the silent, eternal ice.
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