Aye, I saw the stars, and I reached, barehanded
Felt their burn on my skin, and still - never landed.
You speak of lessons, of wolves that don't spare.
But old fangs grow dull when they chew only air.

You tore at my throat, aye, I bled, I knelt-
But you think that was death? That's not what I felt
You think me a boy, but I rose from that floor,
With scars as my tutors, and rage at my core.

You claim ancient might, tales seasoned with time,
But history's a crutch when the peak's past it's prime.
You gorged on the weak, yes - but call it your due?
Try feasting again when your prey bites back too.

Joy in the kill? then dance while it lasts-
For one day you'll howl, and I'll run you down fast.
You call me unblooded, unwise, unaware?
Yet I'm still here breathing. Are you still prepared?

The young rise, old wolf, with lessons well-learned
That every great fire, in time, can be burned.
You taught with your claws, but your book isn't done
The last page is mine. And I've just begun.

So laugh, if you must, while you still wear your crown
But know that the cub you blooded.. will hunt you down

Penned by my hand on the 16th of Mayan, in the year 976 AF.