"I think we deserve
a soft epilogue, my love.
we are good people
and we've suffered enough."
a soft epilogue, my love.
we are good people
and we've suffered enough."
Michael thinks, he would like to be a dragon.
Michael thinks that he could be big, sharp, dripping teeth, if he tried. He could be the bellowing roar that rocks through him as Isra leaves, and as he watches her go.
For a moment, he can't move. His hooves are roots in the wet soil and there are church bells around him, ringing loud - too loud to hear. He cannot tell if their song is a hymn or a dirge. Isra is steps ahead now and moving further, with her dragon and her children and Michael is standing. He has not become a dragon, himself. He is not big, sharp, dripping teeth. He is not a bellowing roar.
Michael is a whimper in the night, a breath caught behind teeth: flat, white bars like gravestones. White gravestones laid against the shady soil of his heart.
Isra is further still. Michael is thinking, maybe this is enough.
Michael is thinking, maybe this needs to be enough.
"I'm coming!" he says, too quiet for her to hear. Too quiet for himself to hear. Then he picks himself up to follow, lurching into a trot that sweeps him toward the lake. Behind him, his heavy tail is dragging Isra's magic things, echoes of a moment that's passed. He carries them away with the words piled up in his throat and they chase him into the distance.
He doesn't feel better - but he does feel something, and that's enough.
