05-26-2021, 11:34 PM
Lumineer
The agony.
Oh, the agony!
It devours him from the inside. It pulses in his gut, rakes clean the soft column of his throat. Here, the wolf hits its knees as its vision goes soft at the edges. And Lumineer, he is so certain that he will die here, that the two of them will perish here together and he’s sorry that he could not save her from the poison that took her but perhaps there will be some comfort in knowing it took him, too.
There is blood, he sees that. (In this moment, he thinks mournfully of his parents, his siblings. Did he tell them each he loved them? Did he assume that they knew it already?) But he cannot dwell on it. No, he cannot keep a singular thought in his head with how terribly it hurts. He writhes and spasms as it takes hold of him.
Yes, he will die here and he’s so sorry for it.
So the wolf lies down to die, coughing and heaving.
And then, as he relaxes into his fate, it goes. Almost like a physical thing leaving him, like he can feel it retreat. Like his deciding to let it take him has forced it to change its mind. Only when it is all gone does he draw in a shaky, hesitant breath. (Will his body reject this, too?) His stomach turns but he does not retch.
Her voice comes swimming to him out of the shadows and he lifts his weary head, scrambling to his feet. He has no balance, no control over those canine limbs as he staggers back to her side.
“Are you all right?” he asks her, always more concerned for others. “We’re in the meadow,” he says, hanging his weary head. So heavy. So horribly tired. “How do you feel?”
Oh, the agony!
It devours him from the inside. It pulses in his gut, rakes clean the soft column of his throat. Here, the wolf hits its knees as its vision goes soft at the edges. And Lumineer, he is so certain that he will die here, that the two of them will perish here together and he’s sorry that he could not save her from the poison that took her but perhaps there will be some comfort in knowing it took him, too.
There is blood, he sees that. (In this moment, he thinks mournfully of his parents, his siblings. Did he tell them each he loved them? Did he assume that they knew it already?) But he cannot dwell on it. No, he cannot keep a singular thought in his head with how terribly it hurts. He writhes and spasms as it takes hold of him.
Yes, he will die here and he’s so sorry for it.
So the wolf lies down to die, coughing and heaving.
And then, as he relaxes into his fate, it goes. Almost like a physical thing leaving him, like he can feel it retreat. Like his deciding to let it take him has forced it to change its mind. Only when it is all gone does he draw in a shaky, hesitant breath. (Will his body reject this, too?) His stomach turns but he does not retch.
Her voice comes swimming to him out of the shadows and he lifts his weary head, scrambling to his feet. He has no balance, no control over those canine limbs as he staggers back to her side.
“Are you all right?” he asks her, always more concerned for others. “We’re in the meadow,” he says, hanging his weary head. So heavy. So horribly tired. “How do you feel?”
THROUGH THE DARKNESS TO THE DAWN
@[rosebay]