Soldier of the Moon

It’s not like I have a choice.

In the lonely quietude of the frosted nights, She rules me. In Her sweet, silvery perfection I am overwhelmed, and there is nothing I can do to stop Her. Nothing I can do…

Her Soldier casts his dark shadow over Her face as He watches me. His wrath is much more violent than Hers. And yet I do nothing, as the Soldier comes in a rush of icy black wind, and gleaming white teeth. I can taste blood. The first warning has been given.

I know well my place among us. We are one, and are for the good of one. His stinging discipline distances us from our Goddess Moon, keeps us in the realm of the wilds. His leadership is welcomed; without Him we are lost. So I will follow him through the frozen, isolated world without question. I am loyal, and am thus rewarded.

There are some who follow Him in vain efforts to win His praise and affection. Not I. Tonight all that will be gained from pursuing Him is the abrupt attack of tooth and claw. I know better.

Like ominous wraiths we flirt with the shadows, mingle with the mist in the dark moor. Our Moon is forgotten for now – we only follow the Soldier as He guides us to victory.

I feel a peculiar blending of freedom and restraint. For surely there is no greater freedom than this; to be a Lord of the Night and express your soul to the radiant Moon. And yet the restraint that He holds upon us is stifling. I can control myself, but some aren’t so lucky. In bold attempts to stretch the limits of freedom they dart ahead, only to be dragged harshly back to the reality of the Pack we must live. They have been reminded of what blood tastes like.

We are much more concentrated now. No vigilantes break forth to escape the Pack. Rivalry is forgotten, and dreams of anything greater than the freedom we have is long past.

We slow our loping pace. The quarry is near, and with precise efficiency we are ready to carry out what we were created to do. I am absorbed by the rush, the excitement. Tonight I will kill! If we are lucky, the toll is once a month. Every month, when the Full Moon implores the Change, I can kill. Kill, and declare my victory to the clear magnificence of the night sky.

I have become intoxicated by my own anticipation. My concentration wavers, and in a blink I have made a mistake. My error has cost me my sought victory.

Quarry can be dangerous. A rack of hard bone cunningly disguised with velveteen lining crushes my ribs, gores my flesh. It has happened and is over in a heartbeat. I lie on the peat, immobilised with the hot, throbbing consequences of carelessness, the steam of my blood fading into the mists of the dark moor.

I am brought back by the triumphant cries of my companions. I am frantic! I must sing with them…but no such thing is possible. Whimpers and cries can only escape my throat now, and no one will hear it.

Yet, one has. My Master, the Soldier of the Moon. His bloodied face peers down at me, and his muzzle lowers to my cheek. He leaves a comfortingly warm kiss on my face before raising his jaws to our Goddess.

‘Against the black velvet of death threatening,’ he sings, ‘your life shines like a jewel.’

He regards me with his silvery stare, somehow more accepting than it was before. I know I will live. I will limp away from my shattered dreams of triumph a humbled servant, and I will return again on the next Full Moon to overcome the faults of this night, and to follow my Leader.

It’s not like I have a choice.