Beneath the wandering lights.

There is a moment each winter when the world seems to tilt, almost imperceptibly, toward wonder.

The air sharpens, the nights lengthen, and the sky grows wide enough to hold a thousand unspoken mysteries. If you step outside and lift your eyes, you might notice how it is never truly dark this time of year. There are glimmers tucked between the stars, quick silver trails that streak like whispered messages across the heavens.

Long before humans charted constellations or named meteor showers, the first wolf pack watched the sky for signs. They believed each falling star was a spark torn from the heart of creation, carrying knowledge, guidance, or warning. But most pups paid little mind to the heavens. Their world was a tapestry of wonders - the scent of rain on stone, the hush of snow settling on the pines, and the comfort of bodies curled together for warmth.

But one wintry night, a curious wolf paused, nose lifted, eyes following the slow drift of starlight overhead. He felt the pull of it, quiet and steady, like a whisper forming just beyond hearing. While his littermates tumbled through frost and shadow, Dov watched the heavens with a stillness uncommon for one so young, as though the falling sparks were speaking a language he alone might hear.

The flickering points of light sang to him, a sense of wonder tugging at his chest – their voices suggesting the world was wider than the ground beneath his paws.

And long before he understood why, Dov found himself listening.

Michele, The Dreamcarver

P.S.

Dov’s full discovery appears in Whispers from the Pack, our ongoing chronicle of the early wolves. Current and archived issues can always be found on our site for those who wish to explore further.