Facing the wind

Some time ago I published a poem in my blog. It was about wolf in a snow, silently waiting. I didn't write that poem myself, I just picked it up as it kind of described me. That wolf in the poem is rebellious and has already long ago left its pack. It is sitting in a field of snow and while all the rest of the animals are looking for shelters and escaping the harsh weather - that wolf just sits there silently, watching and waiting. Other animals do not understand this behaviour and consider wolf's soul as frozen, dead. Nothing shocks this wolf as it simply accepts whatever happens. It is also beyond expectations - it does not expect anything and others can't expect anything from it. Still, wolf in the poem seems somehow sad as it is hopelessly searching for warmth of honest heart. Why is that mission hopeless? Doesn't honest heart exist? It's obvious that wolf's own heart has been broken in the past and it is still carrying a big scar in a present. Magic has disappeared, great passion vanished, dreaming ceased. Princesses, dragons and castles no longer inhabit the land. Or do they? Wolf keeps wondering.