Gray Wolf and Moon Vine

About This Novel

I am a gray wolf. Not the Silver King howling in the moonlight, nor the fiery hunter who digs deep holes with his claws. My hair seemed to have been washed three times by the moonlight, making it shiny gray, but my eyes always shrank away from the green eyes of my companions. Everything started from that rainy night. The wolves were rounding up a wounded wild deer, but before the deer fell, I suddenly smelled the fragrance of flowers on the side of its neck - it was a white flower I had never seen before, and there were still wet tears hanging on the petals. My paws froze the moment they touched the deer's neck, but the deer rubbed my face with its wet nose, and then fell to the snow.

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