When the days had grown shortest, and the leaves all died.
When life became scarce and all was covered in ice.
There lived a pack of wolves against every odd.
That grew hungry and tired and needed to hunt.
They'd sneak in to the towns in the dead of the night.
And seek fire for comfort and warmth in the light.
And though they weren't evil, and knew it was wrong.
They couldn't escape, the lust for the blood.
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