It was all a trick, a play of shadows and fabrications. He should have known, but oh - the promise of magic and excitement had been so unbearably tempting.
He watches as the third ribbon, the ribbon of gold and silver and hope, the ribbon he had chose, crumbles into burlap. It, too, was a lie, and he had failed to detect it.
His eyes shift to the twilight ribbon as it dances in the wind. You should have chosen me, it sings to him with a voice of honey and laughter, then you would have won. Perhaps the twilight is what dreams and magic were made of after all; but if that were so, they were all in the wrong Court.
Slowly, a smile splits the wolf’s lips apart. Was it all a play, a false face of bravery and graceful defeat, or was he really that good of a sport?
“Next time,” he promises the ribbon that twists and turns in the air. Then he turns, and as the maze begins to collapse around him, he weaves his own way out.
I couldn’t resist adding one last post to close this up.
there are many paths to tread
enfanir art
