Daytime must belong to the foxes; nighttime, to the wolves.

So must be it for twilight and dawn burn with fiery colours and snowy clouds, for under the subtle light of day one can gaze upon the elegance of shapes, from the stripes formed by the foliage against a background of sky to the paramount elegance of red hunters. Graceful are their movements: swiftly do they run, jump and kill, and always do they do so in perfect silence.

So must be it for the night is violent. Shadows strip the world from its colour and suffocate the warmth of air and soil. Under the discreet light of moon and stars, only the silhouette of the wolf prevails over the dark. The glare of eyes and fangs cuts through the black, the howl reverberates in open defiance to the quietude. Theirs was the strength and the cruelty, for the pack faces alone the terrors that abound in the cold and dusk.

So must be it, and so it is.