Wolves Ate My Master of Wolves

The master of my wolves was so trusty and so very good at his job, without him my pack, unmentored, would have run wild, but they never did, my packmaster had them well in hand. I don’t know where they are now, my canines that I loved so much, they disappeared when he died in the jaws of less civilised wolves, not a well behaved unit like mine. Mine might have left in disgust, not fear, at that shamelessly savage new lot. A pack that I’ve never seen left only enough of my wolfmaster that I knew that they were his remains, but worse than his untidy remains they left a note, callous, gloating. ‘Haha – We Ate Your Master Of Wolves – Sincerely – The Wolves.’ I worry that they’ll huff and puff and pick my front door lock and consign me to the same fate as my trusty master of canines, I hear them at night, sometimes near. I knew him well enough to know that he was an excellent pack leader and he was definitely the master of my dearly loved wolves, but I can’t account for those wolves. 8th November 2018