Yes, the wolves still howl.
In the heat of summer, the wolves fill the long twilight with deep throated yips as they coordinate the hunt for speed is the plan of attack. In the cold of winter, the night comes early and stays a mighty long time, now panic and confusion are the tools of the pack, so the wolves howl more then, they howl along with the wintry wind.
Iif you have never heard a timber wolf's howl pierce frozen night air, then you have never been that close to hell. Some say fear has the sound of a young girl screaming. But survive long enough in this lost woods and you learn that hell has the sound of howling. And that howling is the lullabye of Death hushing the children.
Some nights here in the Lodge, usually after a full moon snow, you can hear the Grey Ghosts gathering themselves for the hunt. They come down from the tall pines, one and two at a time. You can hear them yapping at each other as they organize themselves for the hunt. Then eventually the big Alpha dog leads them in the howl. When they've got the primal fire inside them burning white hot, they set off on their relentless ritual of dark providence. Oh, a pack like the Grey Ghosts, the hunt might take awhile, but they will find their kill. They always have and they always will. It's how it works here in the wild lands. For somebody to live, usually somebody has to die. Every creature knows it. They just accept it and pray that tonight is not their night,
I have seen this crew at work and it is rather beautiful in its way. Somehow wolves can read each other's minds even when they are out of sight from each other. It's as if there is some unheard voice directing their every move. In the moonlight, they move like shadows hiding within the shadows. Whether they are dead still in a silent watch or they are in racing in for the kill, every muscle is in perfect control, every step is perfectly placed, every movement is as planned as every move of by an old matador.
Yes, they know the hunt. It's in their bones. It's in that heated breath. It's in those eyes, those amber eyes that burn holes in the night.
Do the wolves still howl? D*mn right they howl.