The brambles cried out their outrage. They had kept it hidden from the main path for so long. They had kept it protected when it was half dead from the others' attacks.
Yet they dripped blood, the blood of the wolf. In exchange for refugee, it would sustain itself from the blood of the wolf. It would induce the wolf into a dream where promises happened, when it dreamt of itself lying next to the moonflower.
The wolf had awakened from its slumber bit by bit, sedated and weak. Yet it had moved out from the brambles. It was a refugee, where dreams could happen. But the dreams were pushed onto it by the brambles, not itself. There was nothing in the dreams that it would want from the brambles.
The wolf lowered its great head for a moment in gratitude that the brambles had allowed it to stay alive. But it was time for the wolf to move on its path. Be it if there is no moon flower, it is a choice that it makes itself, rather than when it was broken, and weak and sedated from what it really wants.
The road ahead will be fraught with dangers. But it is able to to meet it straight on now for it knows it will run for the things it wants, where dreams are not imposed by the brambles...
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