The Smell of Wolves

I was raised by women; so like any pure bred wolf I know the sweetness of blood. I've learned to roll on my back while offering my soft stomach when rank is pulled around me. These subtleties within a pack control my fangs of destruction. I've pointed towards the moon in brief moments of energy, but find my quickness of force shadowed by a separate nature. It is in these darkened states that my desperation is consumed by a limitation in domestic pride. Yet I wouldn't trade this status for my station offers avenues far more tangible then position and I find that learning to bend, and yield, in just the right way, is the true mastery of strength.