Put Your Hand Into The Fire

He turned his head to look over his shoulder at her, she gave him her name and his eyes dropped toward the floor, his paws still in the water. His horrid reflection stared back at him and his eye shut almost instantly, only to open ever so slowly and stare back at the pitiful creature reflected on the water's surface. "Prospero." he wheezed, his voice harsh and raspy from the burn. He could remember a time when wolves would gather around to hear him regale them with poetry and stories from a darker time, about his ancestors and their lives with the humans and their man beasts, his lyrical voice enticing wolves as he weaved them into adventure and beauty...And Helen, against his side, resting her head on his shoulder and listening. Now all that sounded from him was horribly cracked and jaded whispers, and reflections of his own solitude and loneliness.