amaroq
in his own country
Death can be kind
Death can be kind
The city is a fairy-tale in winter.
Snow dusts the rooflines, and the thin sunlight turns everything to old gold and ancient diamonds. It’s a cold day for this early in the season, enough that even the raven’s breath is visible, as are all the prayers of the monks in their mountain monastery. In the low streets near the markets and docks all the little dragons are curled atop stoves, dreaming of warm food and warm days.
And what is Amaroq, in this slumbering story, but the wolf that waits outside the door?
Today the sleepers need not fear him. Today he prowls far from the city, where the forests of shaggy pine march right up to the coast, and the only beaches are hidden coves with pebbles like teeth and driftwood like bones, buried in fog. He is hungry, but not enough to hunt; there are deer and elk in the forest, and seals in the sea, but their big dark eyes do not watch him pass. Today he is nothing but another unicorn, and when is a unicorn something for a wild thing to fear?
@Avesta |
