[open] you're going home, you're rag and bone; any

[sochi]

there is a swelling storm and I'm caught up in the middle of it all
and it takes control of the person that I thought I was

The tiger does not feel guilty.

The words are a key to the shackles that have bound Sochi’s hands for as long as she can remember. She can feel them falling to the side, the weight of it lifting, leaving her feeling more alive and free than she can ever remember feeling. It leaves a laugh bubbling in her throat although the sound of it never crosses her serious lips. Instead, she simply thrills in the shift, feeling more at home in her tigress body than she ever has before, despite the relief she has always felt when she gave herself over to the feline predator.

When she watches the other shift, turning canine, something in her tightens and then rises to recognize it, her silver eyes sharpening. Nerves race through her at the sound of the wolf’s howl as it reverberates in Dayé’s throat, echoing through the forest—giving warning to the prey of their coming.

She begins to feel something in her throat that she has never let loose before, a growl that starts low and deep that then grows, her throat expanding to allow for it. The noise builds and builds before Sochi finally releases it, the roar powerful as it sends shockwaves through the forest. Her eyes light up, a freedom that she finally allows to sweep through and over her as she twitches her tail, chuffing lightly to the wolf.

Without further communication, she levels out her head and then begins to pad deeper into the forest, feeling the presence of the wolf as an unlikely and yet completely natural hunting companion. They move forward in silence, picking up the pace and falling more still, nose reaching down to sniff along the forest floor for hints of a prey worthy of their attention. It’s only when they see the herd of deer that Sochi stops, tilting her head toward Dayé as the only alert. Sochi pauses, muscles trembling in anticipation, waiting for the wolf to agree or disagree but the large ivory of her fangs already visible in the glinting of watery light.

sochi

it comes and goes in waves; it always does, it always does
we watch as our young hearts fade into the flood, into the flood