The moon as a mythical figure had always captured my attention. So did lycanthropes, wolves, Latin, forests and Roman gods and goddesses. It was no surprise when I dreamed about them one night.

The dream was unusually high-quality-colored. The night sky was a solemn veil amongst thousands of bright stars. And the moon? It was cold, silent, and bright.

In the dream, I was a wolf amongst the pack. I was the alpha. A sign over to the east read: "Edinburgh -- 5 miles". The wolf couldn't comprehend what it was, although my human mind could.

As a human, you would've felt awkward and scared standing alone in the forest. The forest was just a bunch of trees with a lot of scary animals. But to the wolf, it was more than that. It was home. I could feel the wolf's power and agility, senses beyond the lonely human's imagination.

I looked up. For a moment, it was just the moon.

We began to run.

Savage joy filled the wolves' heart, running with the moon, our paws rustling the fallen leaves atop the grass as we went.

All that matters now was to fulfill his longing to run with the moon, breath-takingly cold and bright, to howl with savage joy.

Then, all of a sudden, I changed perspective. I was now looking from an aerial view. I could see the alpha leading the group.

They stopped by a cliff, the alpha leading them all the way.

The wolves looked like something out of a painting, or of another dream, now, standing up, heads upraised, listening to sounds human ears couldn't.

The wolves howled. It wasn't deep, or gluttoral; it was a social howl.

Eventually, the howl rose and fell with a long slide at the end. There was primeval beauty to it, a longing that resonated in the wolves' souls.

The look in the wolves' eyes was hungry, primal, as it always was when it feels the moon rising, waiting, calling for it...

"When the moon calls, her children must answer." a voice in my head said.

Then, I woke up.