WHAT IT MUST BE LIKE TO BE GENTLE
to reach out and not want to hurt
to reach out and not want to hurt
Teeth clash against monochrome flesh one last time, and for a split second, he sees r e d - turns on his lover with vicious teeth bared - before he registers the weary face of Mathias beside him once more and holds himself in check, refusing to harm another hair on his wretched pelt. The night prior hangs heavy upon him, a sodden cloak of disoriented savagery, and he is made abruptly aware of how desperately he needs rest. A flick of his tail and a sharp snort released is all he can offer as an excuse for his behaviour; he lowers his head, shameful, and jerks his soot-dusted muzzle in the direction he was headed before they had met. “Delumine is this way,” he murmurs, and wonders if his partner will care for his sudden outburst. There are so many things that he must explain, yet he finds his throat dry and his stomach turning at the very thought of revealing the true monster within himself. What if he bears his soul to him, and after all this time, after this - this relinquishing of rage in hopes of softness - there would be no reconciliation after all? Oh, what wounds he could bear for this disaster of a man, but losing him again, losing him now, he daren’t think what it might do to his fragile mind. Better that he brush it off, pretend he’s fine, and get them somewhere safe. But this is easier said than done, he soon realizes, as he takes a few steps forward and collapses.
He takes the ground hard, sand biting his knees as they take the brunt of the impact, but he tries to save himself. His hind end wavers but holds him steady as he shakily recovers, allowing him a few more unsteady steps before he goes down again. This time, his vision is blurry, his mind whirling. Dizziness plagues him: he cannot tell up from down, does not know where Mattie is, but feels his fangs ache in his jaw and hisses in pain. Flashes of red behind his eyes suddenly - the feeling of flesh tearing between his teeth, hot, heavy taste of blood wet on his tongue - “No!” He is up in an instant, eyes rolling with fear, every muscle taut beneath his scarred skin. He sees his lover, but not as his lover: his scent is no longer his. It is prey-scent. “Get away!” The terrible sound of his gruff shout is enough, he hopes, to drive Mattie into the desert - The Hunger, the pain! It returns to him, so eagerly, a familiar and horrible ache inside of him. He shakes his head hard, mouth open in a wordless scream of pain, and he backs away unsteadily. He won’t Change again until the next Full Moon, but he feels The Wolf howling to be free, feels the bloodlust beginning to consume him and knows he could hurt, could maim, could kill. “Mattie, go - go, you’ve got - gotta get out of here … ”
Pain seeps into his voice, he cannot help it. He’s tired, but if he succumbs to the Hunger, if he sinks any deeper into the sea of red, he will not be able to control it. A funeral pyre for any that dare get in his way. Sam is fighting it, but he isn’t sure he can hold himself for much longer. He is used to easing these side effects using his herbal remedies, but he has nothing, will have nothing until they reach Delumine. He is begging with his eyes until they turn hard, golden daggers flashing deadly in the burning sun. “You have to go … I’m sorry.” He is. His heart aches, but his pupils are dilated, his nostrils flared: the bloodscent, stale now, is still tempting him. “I’ll stay here … I’ll … I’ll find somewhere to rest. There are things you don’t - ah! - things you don’t know, I - I can’t explain right now …” Shaking like an addict, he is every inch a wild beast in this moment: the wild, unhinged look in his eye, the way he cannot stand still, oh what agony! “I need you to be safe,” he spits out between gritted teeth. “Now go!” Shallow breaths he takes before he finally allows his lover a few more words, another portentous vow: “I’ll catch up.”
art // background
