ghosts of wolves

I watched as they fought, the majestic wolves battling for dominance. The moonlight shined on the river like a stage light following the lead actor in a play. The bigger wolves' coat glimmered in the light, a silver blue tint around his muzzle. His bright blue eyes shone like sapphires. The other wolf was smaller, a midnight black coat and dark blue eyes. There was dried blood on the left side of his coat, most probably from a recent fight. I observed their actions closely, they moved gracefully, pouncing on each other with ease, their paws colliding together, razor sharp claws digging into the skin of the enemy. Surrounding them were two groups of wolves. Chestnut brown, bay, and stormy grey wolves sat watching the pair sparing. They were wary of their surroundings and of each other. It felt as if they were ready to lash out on the packs.

The whole thing lasted only an hour, there did not seem to be any winners or losers. And this all happened in my back yard. My house was in the middle of nowhere, it was on the outskirts of an old abandoned wood. These wolves were frequent around these parts, but only I knew about them. To the authorities, my sightings would be nothing but a hoax. Why would they want to believe me when wolves were hunted to the point of extinction? I have repeatedly told my family about the wolves, but there was no belief to be had out of them. They all thought they were just something a lonely child would dream about.

"But can't you hear them howling throughout the night?" I always asked.
"No. We have never heard them. I think it's just your imagination"

I have given up trying to share my experiences, and so only I know of the wolves. Only I believe. Sometimes I think im actually going crazy and that the wolves really are just a figure of my imagination. But then I remember how they would snarl and stalk away when I opened my window to watch them or hear them howl into the moon. Only a real wolf would do this.
I wonder what they think. I wonder what they do. I wonder at the endless possibilities of living here. What is in that wood that I should explore. What will I find? Pain? Death? Or happiness? Hope or peace? I wish those stories I heard of people shifting into animals were true. I wish I could change and run off into the distance, into the wood as one of the wolves.
But everything I hold dear in my heart, nearly all the experiences, and the memories have always involved these wolves. I can't remember a day where I would not think or dream about them. They captured my imagination like no over thing could.