The day is short and the nights are long. The cold bites in your fur. It is the tundra, the cold. Air that chills your lungs and burns your throat. You love it, you live for it.
The mud that squelches beneath your paws, sinks into your toes and stays. A craving for the home. The human world wizzes by never making sense, for you are made for the cold wilderness. The mud splashes your fur. You are home and free.
Hunger and survival are your gods, here you are meant to take and give to this world.
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