"How can you stand being a werewolf?" Sirius asked. Remus smiled sadly. "I mean, they're savages!" Remus stiffened.
"Savage!" he cried. Sirius paled.
"No, no! I don't mean it that way! What I mean is-" Remus pressed a finger against his friend's lips and spoke in even tones.
"What you mean is not like you." He began to sing in a quiet and fiercely beautiful voice. "You think I'm an ignorant savage. And you've been so many places, I guess it must be so. But still, I cannot see, if the savage one is me, how can there be so much that you don't know? You…don't…know." He led Sirius to a grassy hill. "You think you own whatever land you land on. The earth is just a dead thing you can claim. But I know every rock and tree and creature," Remus knelt in the grass. "Has a life." He brushed his fingers against a rock. "Has a spirit." His fingertips grazed the bark of a tree. "Has a name." He slid his fingers across the rock and tree, then stood.
"You think the only people who are people, are the people who look and think like you. But if you walk the footsteps of a stranger, you'll learn things you never knew you never knew." He spun to face the glowing half moon hanging in the indigo sky. His voice filled with passion and anguish that Sirius had never heard before.
"Have you ever heard the wolf cry, to the blue corn moon? Or asked the grinning bobcat why he grinned? Can you sing with all the voices of the mountains? Can you paint with all the colors of the wind?" He faced Sirius, his deep green eyes filled with emotion. "Can you paint with all the colors of the wind?"
Remus ran into the forbidden forest. His tone became more cheerful.
"Come run the hidden pine trails of the forest. Come taste the sun-sweet berries of the earth. Come roll in all the riches all around you, and for once, never wonder what they're worth. The rainstorm and the river are my brothers, the heron and the otter are my friends, and we are all connected to each other, in a circle, in a hoop that never ends."
He stared up at the tallest tree in the forest. His voice saddened. "How high can the sycamore grow? If you cut it down, then you'll never know. And you'll never hear the wolf cry to the blue corn moon, for whether we are white or copper skinned, we need to sing with all the voices of the mountains, we need to paint with all the colors of the wind."
Remus rested his gaze on Sirius, and in that moment, Sirius could see the pain, the feral being that Remus tried to fight, but also his unity with the forest.
"You can own the earth and still, all you'll own is earth until, you can paint with all the colors of the wind." Remus sighed. "You see? The forest is a part of me. There is a wild part that I cannot tame, and I learned to accept it. So must you." A tear traced its way down his cheek. He turned and ran toward the castle, leaving Sirius to think about what he'd said.