The Wolf was dark and brooding, so I never spoke to him. His skin was pale. And his brows, ever so furrowed. The mocha locks upon his head seemed matted but retained a soft complexion. His facial features were average, only accented by a light mustache, which seemed to off put him. The color of The Wolf’s eyes were a think cocoa, much so that upon close inspection, one cold see the wild curled snugly around his pupil. He was friendly enough, dropping a few remarks from his sharp teeth which asked of my writing, my art.
I caught sight of him on a bus once. The Wolf’s intense eyes scanning the rows like prey, but I knew of his gentleness so I gathered my checkered backpack and shrank to the window. I then saw him look to the empty space I had created. The Wolf hesitated before asking if he could sit. I could barely hear him over my headphones but I nodded politely and he sat.
Up close, he seemed so different. The Wolf appeared lanky from afar, but up close he was significantly larger than I. Upon his temple I could distinguish every bold hair. Dark orbs glanced to me and I quickly looked to my lap.
I wanted to ask his name for, although we’ve seen and spoke before, we have never been introduced. In my mind, I replayed what I was going to say, but the courage I mustered was null when The Wolf started conversing with his pack. Of course. The Wolf, always with his pack. Dark and brooding, so I never spoke to him.