The scars hold my heart tight in place. I still run from the wolf. The scars show the way I love, protective and unyielding. The scars have been pulling me apart from the inside. The more losses I take the tougher it is to feel my own heartbeat. I turn tenderness to others, I try to cut out their pain, pull the scars from their bodies, free them from the ache they must carry. The wolf stills bares her teeth at me. I hear her growl under the wind, vibrating through the patchwork of scars. I can growl back, my defenses rising with fire and fury but mostly now I do not. I see the depths of myself and trust the heights I know are coming. She has become a clumsy hunter and I am no longer prey. This isn’t defined by my strength it is defined by my love for the wolf. I know her pain and I know her desires. The scars hold a vicious power. I stretch the muscles of my heart, the scars pull in, they tighten then soften, they become pliable. I hold the weight of it inside me, the weight of my tender heart. It is precious and battle worn and it is mine. I am the wolf mother.