Before the first flame learned to rise,
Before men carved names into ice,
There walked a shade through frost and fir—
A ghost the snow still will remember.
Carved from the marrow of mountain stone,
Raised where the dead froze skin to bone.
Born in the famine, storm, and blight,
A crown of hunger dressed in white.
Ash in the air, snow in the lung,
Old as the earth when earth was young.
Tracks in the frost like runes aligned,
A scar inscribed on winter’s spine.
Silver vapor, savage grace,
Starlight burning in its face.
No hand to tame, no chain to bind,
No law but tooth, and cold, and time.
The frost won’t weep, the dark won’t care,
It strips the flesh and salts the air.
No bloodline lasts, no empire holds—
The ice recalls what men let go.
Dire Wolf — cry through the crumbling dark!
Leave your wound, your winter mark.
Before the thaw consumes the flame,
Before the ice unwrites your name.
Dire Wolf — rise though all things fall!
The wild was never ours at all.
In your howl the ages grieve—
The last of what we chose to leave.
Beneath auroras split in red,
It walks the corridor of the dead.
Not beast, not myth, not demon born—
Just hunger given teeth and form.
The pine trees bow, the branches break,
The buried rivers writhe awake.
A breath like mist, a step like doom,
A pulse inside the frozen tomb.
Tribal embers fading low
Whisper old names into snow.
Not in praise, nor fear, nor awe—
But grief for what the ice once saw.
The bones of kings are ground to dust,
Their iron drowned in frost and rust.
Yet through the pines something survives—
A wound the centuries keep alive.
Dire Wolf — cry through the crumbling dark!
Leave your wound, your winter mark.
Before the thaw consumes the flame,
Before the ice unwrites your name.
Dire Wolf — rise though all things fall!
The wild was never ours at all.
In your howl the ages grieve—
The last of what we chose to leave.
I saw your shape in shattered white,
A fracture in the northern light.
Not waiting, sleeping, nor reborn—
Already ash before the dawn.
Still the wind retains your breath,
A hymn half-frozen under death.
Still the cold repeats your name
Like prayer, like curse, like weathered flame.
Gone.
But gnawing.
Lost.
Still calling.
Still tore the throat
Of burying pale.
Still split the frost,
Still bit the gale.
Still met extinction
With frozen teeth.
Still faced the void
Beneath the wreath
Of northern ash
And winter rain.
Dire... Wolf...
Cold... Remains...
Dire Wolf — cry through the crumbling dark!
Leave your wound, your winter mark.
Before the thaw consumes the flame,
Before the ice unwrites your name.
Dire Wolf — rise though all things fall!
The wild was never ours at all.
In your death the silence grows—
A truth the melting season knows.
Dire Wolf — omen carved in ice!
Proof that all we keep has price.
When the last wild heartbeat slows,
Only the hollow forest knows.
Under shattered stars and stone,
The cold inherits all alone.
No pack remains.
No tracks to show.
Only wind.
Only snow.
…and we let it go.