It's going to be different, 2020. There's going to be more laughter and fewer tears. We're going to become adventurers again. We're going to get more and give up less (take that either way, if you will). We're going to be fierce and unforgiving, pillaging everything we see, taking our due, noting our worth, stroking the fires of our bravery and might so that others will fear our names.
It's going to be incredible.
I have half a mind to stand out on the point in the snow, face defiantly raised toward the light, feathers woven into my hair, Ben's brass knuckle rings firmly shoved onto each and every finger as I punch a hole in the winter sky to find the sun.
I have the other half of my mind which falters behind like a simple child, pleading with me to wait while it catches up. I turn, sneer on my lip, shaking my head. No. Haste, my child. Keep up or you'll be eaten by the wolves, lost forever.
She listens, mercifully. I don't want to watch that ever again. Her scars are all over, bites, claws, marks from where they have almost caught her as she stumbles through the dark, grabbing branches, losing footing, losing ground and then making it up again with my help. Maybe I will devour her and then I can get where I need to be.
Wouldn't it be nice.
But they have asked to keep her.
And so she stays.
And if you look out toward the point you'll see her already there, dirt streaked on her cheeks, mixed with the snow that melts on her face, mixed with tears too, feathers and leaves tangled in her hair, torn pockets on her dress from where she keeps her treasures, blood soaked through the fabric for her treasures are wolf/human hybrid hearts and it's rare if you catch her standing still.
It's going to be incredible.
I have half a mind to stand out on the point in the snow, face defiantly raised toward the light, feathers woven into my hair, Ben's brass knuckle rings firmly shoved onto each and every finger as I punch a hole in the winter sky to find the sun.
I have the other half of my mind which falters behind like a simple child, pleading with me to wait while it catches up. I turn, sneer on my lip, shaking my head. No. Haste, my child. Keep up or you'll be eaten by the wolves, lost forever.
She listens, mercifully. I don't want to watch that ever again. Her scars are all over, bites, claws, marks from where they have almost caught her as she stumbles through the dark, grabbing branches, losing footing, losing ground and then making it up again with my help. Maybe I will devour her and then I can get where I need to be.
Wouldn't it be nice.
But they have asked to keep her.
And so she stays.
And if you look out toward the point you'll see her already there, dirt streaked on her cheeks, mixed with the snow that melts on her face, mixed with tears too, feathers and leaves tangled in her hair, torn pockets on her dress from where she keeps her treasures, blood soaked through the fabric for her treasures are wolf/human hybrid hearts and it's rare if you catch her standing still.