He lay curled under an ancient pine when she first saw him. Taken in by his silver fur and powerful form she ached to move closer, to become a part of him. Enveloping him in her arms, he felt nothing but the caresses of a strong breeze. Waking from his slumber in a panic from the wind, softly she breathed in his pointed ear
“Be calm, be still, all is well.” And so their love began.
He ran wherever her strong breezed led. Her force nearly lifting his paws from the ground so he flew through the pines of the northern forests. He sang to her of his love for her presence; something he could not touch or see, but still hear and feel. His voice, howling with the frustration of their fate left his muzzle and she carried on this lament for miles on her winds.
He was a wolf, and she the wind, but their devotion was true and their love pure. Every day they spent side by side. The silver wolf lead the pack, inspiring young wolves with the swiftness of his paws and the haunting melody of his song. Years passed, but still he refused to take a mate, loving but unable to truly be with his love. Still, she blew for him and he ran for her, as years passed by dulling his silver fur to gray.
“I never got to see you.” He whimpered, his amber eyes dulling in his final moments.
“Be calm, be still, all is well.” She replied, stroking him with a gentle breeze, like the first night.
As he breathed his last she released all her power to the sky in a force so powerful trees were ripped from their roots. The mourning wolves howled their beloved brother’s song in desperation to comfort her, but she would not be comforted without his love.
The Moon took pity on this impossible love. It heard the song of the silver wolf and watched the pair through the old canine’s life and death. The goddess traveled to the underworld and reclaimed the old wolf’s soul and sent him back to his lover, reincarnated as an air spirit himself. Joy rustled the needles of every tree as the lovers became one. The pack, relieved and elated at their brother’s bliss continued to sing the old wolf’s love song in praise to the kind hearted moon.
From this pack all wolves were born and spread throughout the world. Wolves young and old, grey, black, red, brown, and all other colors remember the benevolent moon and sing to her every night as the spirits of the wind; now her most devoted servants, carry their song in joyous gratitude.