Crows

Today finds the man who thinks he's a wolf sitting on top of Kenidjack Carn.
He's watching a swirling gyre of crows roll and tumble over the moor that falls away below him toward Pendeen. Must be a hundred of them, more. Maybe they're rooks? He can hear a raven caw, somewhere. Just him and the crows. Or rooks.

The wind is surprisingly bitter. Bitter sweet really, thinks the wolf. He remembers running across these moors in another life, with a huge and beloved Alsatian by his side - Wraith. Huge, powerful, fearless and with a heart that could drive a V8 and a grin that could eat granite. Long gone, along with the life and home he once had here.

Choices made by someone the wolf once loved finished that life and broke that home, something he came to terms with a long, long time ago. The consequences of those past choices still cascade through the lives of people here and now though, and today the person responsible had to be held to account by the wolf.

Because of his love for his son, the wolf had to make that person make a decision that they did not want to, that may cause them pain for the rest of their lives. He did it without regret and would do it again because of his love for his son. But it caused him great sadness to see someone who was once in his care in so much pain. But there was no regret. And no pride.

The crows have gone.
It's getting darker and the wolf has calls to make and a fire to build in his house, something to watch through the night. He stands and stares across the moor through the broken pasts, through the billion possible futures, to the sea. He wishes he was going home but doesn't know where that is any more.
People are home to the wolf, not places.

Maybe one day.