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What is it about wolves that strikes some responsive chord, both adoring and loathing, right in the marrow of our bones? Could it be their freedom -- the ability to run swift as a throught through the dark of night -- that we envy? Or some look in that yellow eye that says, We are the Wild. We are the last of the Wild.

What does that howl to the moon really mean? One wonders. I wonder, at least.