I can't promise you that I won't let you down
and I can’t promise you that I won’t be the only one around
when your hope falls down
but we’re young
open flowers in the windy fields of this war torn world
The wind whistled angrily, its biting cold breath slicing across bare rock like a knife, cutting through silence as easily as a scythe cuts through a stalk of wheat. And, bowing just as the wheat would have been, the yellow stranger bowed beneath the onslaught of cold from the heavenly abyss, his pelt doing little to stop its frigid fingers gripping at his skin. Cvijet wished that he would move from where he stood, fall into the cracks where she hid, if only so that she did not have to continue staring up at him. He gazed down at her in earnest, as open as she, his clear eyes telling tales she did not try to follow. Instead, she spoke, revealing as much as he had in a simple sentence, her voice laced with sincerity, her words ringing with truth. Like a gargoyle he remained stoic, regarding her from his perch, only the white whisper of his breath in the air telling of the warmth he stored within. Her ears flicked, mind racing as she wondered where he had been, what pain he had endured. Surely he, emissary of the sands (for she had managed to place his slight frame and golden hue at last), knew many things, of pain and sorrow at least, for they were etched onto his brow and worn with a fortitude she recognised. Sighing, her own breath escaped her maw, pouring out into the air around her and lingering for a time without wind to sweep it away, before curling into the firmament. Cvijet traced the silvery path with her eyes, wishing to follow it. To be light as a bird as she had been once, when she was younger and more naive.
Fool's wishes now.
As though he sensed the treacherous path her mind was taking, the stranger decided to act, launching his slight frame from the lip of the rock upon which he stood to share the space beside her. Although he was not too close, the air felt immediately warmer, and she settled into it as if into an embrace, realising suddenly how lonely it was on the crags. Snow shifted and she opened eyes previously shut in a moment of peace, catching the final, smooth motion of the wolf as he reclined upon his haunches. To avoid the awkwardness of meeting his stare, Cvijet lifted her paw once more to give it a few comforting licks, softening the scabby blood that had already started to form there. He spoke into the silence, his voice rich and oddly reassuring, although she did not welcome his words. Time had not healed the wounds she bore, it had only deepened the ache, forcing it into her marrow to become a part of her, a cancer that would not stop. She peered at him sharply, although the indignance wore off as swiftly as it had bubbled up,
“Time has done little to soothe my ailments. I am a healer by trade, I have tried every herb I know, and some I do not, hoping that a plant or berry would help me forget my pain,” a chuckle, “But alas, I do believe the only berry that has the power to help would be poison nightshade.”
She was being sardonic, but her tones were laden with an undercurrent of desperation. She had seen what the soul-sickness could do to a wolf – watched her father's sides go gaunt and face go sallow. All that had served to heal him had been the adoration of another and, after that, the anger. Now he was dead, his life-blood food for other creatures, his flesh long since melted into the earth. Nature could be hard and cruel. Cvijet blinked her emerald orbs at the other, feeling as though an introduction was in order,
“Forgive my rudeness. I am Cvijet, daughter of Faol'an, wanderer of Moladion. My stepmother belongs to the woodland pack, but I do not think I fit in there as much as she. And I don't know why I'm still talking....”
she trailed off, aware that she had begun to babble and embarrassed at her openness. She trusted too easily, let the stranger share his secrets as well. An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth. Between them the silence thickened, made more imposing by the roaring of the wind outside their hideaway, and it seemed to Cvijet that it was just the two of them there in that place, a secret heartbeat warming the frigid, winter rocks till spring returned.
And, although it was just another foolish fantasy, it warmed the femme like nothing else could.
I ran away, I could not take the burden of both me and you
It was too fast
casting love on me as if it were a spell I could not break
but it was a promise I could not make
what if I was wrong?
daughter of Faol`an/mateless/packless/three years/mother of none