The Chosen written with help by Master Wolf

   

      As the ghosts march by, soldiers going to war, row by row, man by man.  The Elder Alpha Silver Wolf, silver-grey in color, runs along side and through the rows of men, watching their steps, looking into each man's eyes and dispatching those with weakness and those with evil in their souls. While the crows and ravens fly overhead and into the future from the past with messages of lore and triumph. I can hear their footsteps in the grass as they marched by yet I can not seem them, even though there are but only two inches in front of me.  I see their words as if in speech bubbles, as if I'm reading a cartoon, above each man. Each man marches tall and proud it seems like they can not feel the gentle breeze. Is it going right through them? The grass moves not as they step upon it and march through as if they aren't even there. But, only I see and hear them. Why have I been chosen?  I can feel the rhythm of their footsteps upon the ground as if an earthquake was making the hills roll like thunder. Row by row, man by man. There are stars alined over each man's head as if a star had been chosen only for him. There is no heat nor is there cold. Absense of heat, here they do not sweat. Absense of cold, nay they shiver not. The Elder Alpha Silver Wolf leaves no tracks of his strides as he runs thru the men doing the job The Grand Fathers have chosen him for. Yet the soldiers footprints do not appear as such. For they are the "The Chosen Ones" of The Elder Alpha Silver Wolf. Their steps are as if "The Many are One." And when the whiteman looks upon "The Trail of Tears" they see one set of prints but not foot prints. One set of prints can be seen, that of "The Wolf..."  A-HO!