✶Sebastian✶'s Den

I HOARD FOOD, IM A FOOD HOARDER AHHHHH




In the frost-lit woods where moonlight weaves,
The wolves move silent through rustling leaves.
Eyes like lanterns, sharp with need,
They prowl and pant, they stalk and feed.

With snarling grace, they chase the night,
A pack in rhythm, a blur in flight.
Claws on snow, breath like steam,
Hunger guiding every dream.


They howl to stars with voices wild,
Raw and ancient, nature's child.
Their echo dances on the air—
A lonely song, a primal prayer.

But far away, on windowsills,
Where human warmth the silence fills,
The cats curl soft with velvet paws,
Living by gentler, quieter laws.

A purr, a blink, a feathered tail,
Chasing dreams they’ll never trail.
Their hunt is toys and lazy grace,
Their world a warm and cushioned place.

Yet when they gaze at distant trees,
They ache for wind and running knees.
And wolves, in dens of bramble thorn,
Might dream of hearths and meals well-worn.

So different, yet they share a flame—
A hunter's heart, a creature's name.
Fur-bound cousins split by fate,
Each envying the other’s gate.

For wild or tame, both seek the thrill,
Of life that bends to tooth or will.
And in the night, both fangs and purrs,
Are whispers of the beast that stirs. - Vivi