The Blue Howl Between Worlds From the deep breath of night you rise, fur woven of sky-water and sacred smoke, your throat lifting toward the unseen fire where ancestors keep the first songs. You do not howl in loneliness— You call the stars by their old names. names that remember us Before we learned to forget ourselves. Around you, feathers drift like spirits resting. Each one a story released, not lost. The wind listens. The earth answers by holding still. Your eyes are closed. Yet you see farther than sight allows— into the place where grief softens, where broken hearts relearn their rhythm. O Wolf of the Blue Path, walker of mist and memory, You teach us that strength can be gentle, that silence can speak, That pain can become a doorway. When your voice rises, The veil thins. The living remember the dead. The dead bless the living. And for one trembling moment, all worlds breathe together— as one pack, under one listening moon. . 🎨Artist and the storyteller: Elvis Becker