TALK ABOUT A PATHETIC WOLF
TALK ABOUT A PATHETIC WOLF
Late in the afternoon, the sun cast long shadows through the half-closed blinds of a dimly lit room. The heavy drapes, once a rich maroon but now faded by time, swayed gently in the breeze, filtering the warm amber light that made its way inside. The room was adorned with antique furniture, dark oak, and worn leather.
Two men, old friends reunited, sat in this dimly lit room. They appeared to be in their late forties but one was sixty-five and the other seventy respectively, a thorough effect of the wolf genes running in their DNA. An ornate, mahogany coffee table stood between them, strewn with a bottle of fine whiskey, and two glasses. The sighs that erupted from their lips filled the room, a stark similarity to the room's otherwise somber ambiance.