A raven came to me in a dream and sang to me. It was a song of things to come, a song of things come and gone. I listened to him sing for I saw him as a friend, the friend of a wolf. Hearken to me, he sang, follow the path – it matters not which one, since through the forest all paths lead to none. Follow the scent of your instinct, grey one. There, find her you will.
While he sang I listened, and when his words of prophecy danced into my mind I saw what I was meant to see. I howled the way wolves do and followed the echo as it reverberated down my chosen path. My voice, my howl, was not built for song but calling for things, things since long gone.
When running through the forest that is your soul it takes a wolf to feel at ease and a raven to guide your way. Run in search of your pack and listen. Listen to lessons only silence can teach, a teacher that lectures in whispers. It will reveal the secret of trees, how they make a forest so deep that getting lost and finding your way equals the same thing. A wandering soul, a wandering wolf, is a searching one and searching is what I do.
Wolf or man, it matters little when the ravens sing destiny into your footsteps.