Tuesday 13 December 2016

Pale shelter.

Curiousity and mild fright morphed into visceral rage somewhere in the long dark and it all caught up with me in a hurry as I stood at the door looking out into the cold endless night, now dusted with snow, holding my hand behind my back, fingers crossed. PJ made me a drink that wasn't quite meant for my weight class and so I can't feel the cold or the remnants of the fear but I can feel the anger coming like arrows lit with fire. They're all aiming for my heart. One will always be closer than the rest but the others still make their mark and I am left riddled with holes, brought back to life by the good graces of the sun in simple daylight, torn apart before then because that's what wolves do.

And this is my pack even as I stand out like a kitten who made a wrong turn in the forest.

I'm only hurting myself on purpose here, no one else. To Lochlan it's just another test of my loyalty. To me it's a challenge to see if I can take it. To everyone else it's a foolish risk and a chance that shouldn't be taken and a Just Plain Bad Idea but they don't get to decide. Selfishness shines like pride and I know exactly what any one of them would decide on my behalf.

And so I waltz into brave ideas like a clumsy dancer, tripping over my own feet, sure of the music I can't hear though I know it must be there and when I'm in someone's arms sometimes it makes sense and this is one of those times. I haven't set times or made promises but I haven't written him off either. I am thinking. I don't know much of anything except how to steal important things like hearts and money but I do know when things shift a little and I think I can make some room. I always have a little wiggle room. It's made up of the spaces left over in between the pieces of my heart, where I tied them all together as tightly as I could but the wind still whistles right through it as I stand here with the door open looking into the trees, a row of sentries looking back at me. At least these ones don't yell.