Dance, my little puppets,

Win/6.3/01  

     Wraith was such a pleasant word and Nakki thought she liked it more as a name. His voice was strange in the sense that she wanted to hear more of it. She almost though, she’d like to hear him recite her poetry - Cryptic poetry in a voice that reflected ancient evils and breathed decay into the world. Magic, she supposed. She wanted to see him preform arcane arts that no one could possible believe or make sense of. Her breath caught in her throat when she looked into his lavender tinted eyes when he spoke.

     Hazed over in white, they reminded her of the clouded eyes of her comrade’s when she returned for them after a blistering day of gruesome battle. It was a cruel memory, but she couldn’t turn away from it either. Their faces were so vividly imprinted on her memory that even when she blinked slowly, to clear her vision, they remained images of contorted horror in her mind. She could almost hear their voices screaming in pain or howling in fury. However, they all became still and perked their ears forwards towards Wraith’s single word.

     Nakki let go of her held breath and it created a swirl of warm steam that quickly faded into the crisp winter air. In that moment, she wanted to press her cheek against his and call him back to the depths of the swamp so that she could watch him endlessly wander them. Her skin tingled and twitched beneath her fur, feeling unsettlingly close to something she shouldn’t be. Was it him? She so very much wanted to be closer, but she couldn’t bring herself to move. It seemed too much effort to close that pitiful amount of space between them.

     Instead, she treasured the precious moment, and let the question linger. The first sign of life, or desire in him, was the slight affliction of his voice that made “Iromar” into a question. Nakki felt compelled to answer him.

     “Come back to us, Wraith.”

     She lifted a paw nearest to him, leaving a perfect imprint of it on the ground and then she moved it backwards, placing it into the snow slightly behind her shoulder. The snow squeaked in protest as she lowered it into its depth. Her slow, soft movement left slightly more space between their noses. Her ears were gently raised towards him, yearning for his weary voice to grace her ears again.

Näkki