GAVROCHE
Is it in these bottomless nights that you sleep in exile?
“I would speak to you in that tone, but you hardly seem one for titles.”
A rasp colored the ebony wolf’s baritone voice as he laughed genuinely, though it caught in his throat and erupted with more force than he intended. Alright, alright, he’d admit it: Gavroche was enjoying himself a little too much today. What had started as a destination-walk to the water, where he anticipated the icy drink that whispered in the ears of many ”winter is coming” as it slid down eager and thankless throats, had turned into a game. He loved this game, the cat-like velvet of his paws as he pursued the snowy, gentile mouse over the banks. He had no problem giving the stranger a long leash, pausing here and there to mark unofficial territory, just for fun. What a handsome jester he was, walking down the sand a second after the boy, a usurper if ever one existed.
Not to be misunderstood, Gavroche had certainly heard the belle’s laugh too, a free note that danced on the wind. Oh yes, he’d heard it and he was sure that’s what made him feel so light, so cockily arrogant as he observed the flick of the Prince’s ear towards the sound, as yet unaware of his distant shadow. Or was he catching on, and that attentiveness was for the hopeless cackle that bubbled from Gavroche’s chest. This fool. The way he walked bespoke of some kind of insecurity…It was clear from (literally) miles away that he was a pushover, a soft spoken sensitive SOB with a heart-wrenching story to match. They all were. Every single last wolf in this forest, entrenched in misery to the ends of their pelts.
Oh certainly, you say, certainly Gavroche has had his trials. No wolf is perfect. While it’s true, Gavroche bore his burdens; it was with hidden, secret strain. He had too much fun inserting himself in a hopeless situation, matching shoulders with his opponent, the grin affixed on his broad snout.
He addressed her again, allowing himself to fall into the same, gentlemanly enchantment of the white wolf next to him; his better half. “Forgive me. I’m crass after a long day’s walk. (He interrupted his speech here to allow himself the self-indulgent smile, the laughter of a con with the sweetness of a young adult who just found his footing in a strange new place.) Tell me why you laugh, and I’ll tell you why I do.” The promise was levied with a wink towards the other male in their devastatingly enjoyable little dance as the ebon male; operating only at two extremes (as floppy, limp, and subservient as a doll, or as rigid, self-confident, and loyal as a soldier) flopped down in the sand at her side with a sigh of contentment.
KATI H.DAWNTHIEVES
YOGENDRA JOSHI.FLICKR
Ω 2014
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