The Protector


His white muzzle is concealed in crimson
The rogue at his feet heaves its last breath
Sure of its death he limps away
Back to his pack
He must defend them
Whatever the cost
Blood drips from a leg
Leaving a trail of rubies
He throws up his head
And releases a long triumphant howl
For his victory
His pack
And the death that lies behind him


Need to talk?

If you ever need help or support, we trust for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741