They smelled different now. There was still salt, though less of it. There was less of everything now. The two-legs were still good to run with, though. There was one thing there was more of: the two-legs wore a lot more fur now. They smelled better for it too. No more unnatural gases from those peculiar skins they used to take on and off. After millennia of kinship they had come full circle, back to the beginning.
For the wolves it was easier now. Things had returned to the natural order. The two-legs no longer had time to pervert their breeding. There was only time to hunt and to eat. All of the abominations of their husbandry had died off, no longer protected from the shortcomings the two-legs had bred into them. Only those that could run, hunt and weather the elements remained. They had been tragic imitations of their lupine ancestors, dependent upon the two-legs for their very existence and survival. Now, again, wolves would be pure: the two-legs would need them just as much as they had when they had first pursued their quarry together.
The great packs would again roam the earth, two-legs and wolves together, stalking and taking their prey to sate their aching bellies. Two-legs still had fire at least, if all their other wonders had gone. Their young were fearless, their pups moved as their canine brothers did on all fours, in the dirt. Yet they had no fangs, no claws, no fur. If they were to all survive then all pups must be nurtured, shown the way of the wild. With time their pups might even learn to remain on all fours.
How many millennia would pass again and would this time be different? If their breeding stock remained strong, pure, would they unite this time on four legs all? Their savage packs could battle by tooth and claw to maintain the balance; no more fire from the sky. It must be so, for this race can not be run again…