
Wolfie is my caller- she owns me not, I am owned by none but the night.

My calling is Oíche. I ne'er respond to anything but it, I have no nickname, no alternate naming. Oíche was the name I chose for myself as I am of night and night is of me. Do not take my words as a joke young friend, I mean as I say.

Male

Oíche is Irish for midnight. Irish is, in my mind, an earthy and real language, Ireland is a land of simple green and earthy land. It is lovely and real, and midnight there is beautiful and the stars speckle the inky sky. So, I chose the language Irish to represent Ireland and its beautiful naturalness and I chose the word 'Midnight' because it is a night wolf, its beautiful color and his purpose.

"I want one more night among the stars
As long as it is one more moment to spend with you
One more moment to gaze at the glittering expanse
One more moment to sit beside your seraphim side
Don’t leave me behind in the streaming river of time
You hold my heart and I will wait for you forever
I want one more night in the stars, as long as it is one more moment to spend with you..."
Sung Oíche as he sat atop a hilltop bathed in silver moonlight, casting a ghostly shadow over the coarse grass that surrounded Oíche. He looked so sad, his eyes soft and dark, looking up and whispering so softly his words were lost in the consoling breeze that tousled his midnight fur gently. "I haven't forgotten..." his voice trembled, his mind cruelly swirling with thoughts of his lost love. A glittering tear rolled down his satin cheek and he closed his eyes, a silent sob shaking his frame once, before, with a noise indicating great effort and tribulation, stood and turned away. He walked calmly away, never turning his head towards the place of flattened grass moments before he had sat. Melting into the night he had created, Oíche smiled sadly, his melancholy features contorting slightly as he strode in the dark, letting the comforting tendrils of shadow engulf him. Oíche was one with the night and looking eastwards, noticed the faint traces of amber light suggesting an impending sunrise, ending his reign of comfort over midnight and the moon. He frowned, as if confused. The night had passed him faster then most and he was not ready to leave its dark embrace. Picking up his pace, he jogged agitatedly to the cave he had inhabited, trotting among the rushes and trees he reached it, curling and contorting to a position of rest he looked one last time to the sky, the dying night light making him wince in pain of memory once more. Watching in this way silently, he drifted to sleep, his mind lost in the imagination of his subconscious.