Half of my soul loves the craggy forests and the pines that lean more towards the horizon than they do the sun. That part of me loves the mix of damp loam and the predator musk that lingers on my tongue like stolen drams and bottles of wine. There is death in the forest here, and life, and things that turn the edges of my wolf into snow, and muscle, and tendon as his insides beg to come out (and his belly begs to devour the world). I could be happy here where the dead world runs into the eternal sea.
I could be home.
But then there is the half of me that loves the waves, and the storm, and the taste of froth leaving crystals of salt on my lips like it's spun sugar instead of sea. I love the roar in my ears that makes my heart stumble in my chest, I love the lighthearted feeling that makes my insides want to come out. It's darker than the love I have for my sister, for my wolf, for anything in the world that might be both attachment and chain.
It's darker. Like me it's almost black in the moonlight.
And the moonlight cannot reach me here beneath the sea-craving pines and the rotten trunk of trees the tidal wave killed. I am nothing more than a sliver of a girl in the darkness, a speck of gray half-dead star next to the bone-white shimmer of Foras. I am--
I am--
I am a unicorn with teeth that know nothing about innocence when I snarl as my wolf does at the unicorn stalking through the darkness that should belong to me and me alone.
@Amaroq
