Two wolves came walking

out of the dark

and somehow

I knew them.

No words spoken.

No promise made.

Only eyes meeting mine

across the years.

They found me

where the wild things sleep,

where the old roads disappear,

and stayed.

Soft breath.

Warm fur.

heartbeats beneath my hand.

The quietest things

can carry the deepest knowing.

And I have followed

those eyes

through every season.

When I could not see the way,

they were there.

When I forgot my own light,

they remembered it for me.

Two fires

moving through the dark.

Two stars

beneath the moon.

I wonder sometimes

if we have done this before —

found one another

at the edge of a forest,

at the turning of a life,

and recognised

the shape of home.

There are things

I cannot tell you.

Things older than language,

buried beneath bone

and blood

and breath.

But you know.

You always know.

You rest your heads

against my hand

and the whole world softens.

And somewhere between

your heartbeats

and mine,

something became

one.

Three lives

held in the same thread.

Three flames

feeding the same fire.

And time may turn

its cruel wheel,

may take the fur

from my hands,

the warmth from my side,

the footsteps from the floor —

but it cannot unmake

what was woven here.

No prophecy.

No grand design.

Only this:

I am here.

You are here.

And whatever time may take,

it cannot loosen what binds us.

Two wolves.

Two fires.

Three hearts

keeping time

beneath the same moon.

You lit the oath

I could not speak.

You carried the flame

when my hands were empty.

And if the dark should come again,

let it come.

Let it come.

I know the way home.

I know the way home.

Because wherever

the years may carry us,

my heart will know your footsteps,

my soul will walk beside you.

Two wolves

walking beside me.

One fire

burning through us all.

One fire.

Three hearts.

Beneath the same moon,

held in the quiet of forever.