Gale
this is going to break me clean in two --
this is going to bring me close to you
She circles him slowly, and Gale looks at the snow trapped in the thick pale fur at her shoulders, and the marks that her pawed feet leave on the dry stone, and he little bits of trampled snow and melting water that drip down her well-muscled sides. He traces the fissures of light that illuminate her entire body, his blue eyes unreadable as he so closely attends the naked proof of her rage.
“None at all.” He answers regarding the facile takeover.
Seeing her now, he realizes that one wound still remains unhealed. There is some broken part of him still, a flaw even the waterfall has not been mend. Happiness with her feels better than Power. He’d prefer to see her eyes shut in pleasure than pain, would rather hear her moan his name than plead for relief from pain.
It’s wrong. He wants her more than magic and it’s wrong.
When he had ripped her apart, Gale had not paid enough attention to where the pieces had gone. He’d not known then what he does now - how to keep the destruction contained, how to keep any of the discarded pieces from sticking to him.
The parts of her that he’d stolen had mostly been thrown away, left to rattle about between the mountains of Hyaline as little pockets of emotion. A few he’d kept for curiosity’s sake, and they’d redoubled when his host had resurrected, stronger than he had anticipated. Most of them he’d quashed, but some dug in, resistant. He’d left them be after a time, certain that they could do no harm.
He’d been incredibly mistaken.
That much is certain as he tells himself he should slam her head against the wall so that her brains might match the stone. He tells himself as much, and yet he does not move an inch toward her. Hurting her doesn’t appeal to him. Not in the slightest.
Instead he stares, meeting her red-orange eyes without so much as blinking, and does his best to not think about anything at all. Instead he listens to the sound of the wind howling as the snow clouds turn from grey to black and lightning begins to flash. He inhales the smell of crushed pine needles old fur and feathers from the deeper parts of the cave, and watches as the wolf settles between himself and the entrance of the cave.
Or the exit?
There’s no magic in him to defend himself. Vulnerability had seemed a reasonable trade for knowledge a moment earlier, but having gained it now he suddenly feels much differently. She is the one with the power now, he realizes. She has been for some time.
He takes a step toward the mouth of the cave - the exit - but the space is narrow and he pauses just before he’ll feel the heat that radiates from Mazikeen. Had he been trying to leave? He’s not sure himself. Perhaps moving closer to her? Pushing her out into the snow?
This close, he can see the way the light from their glowing bodies catches on Mazikeen’s glittering white fur, how a bit of blood has dried below her chin, extending the crimson marking at the end of her nose. He can see the child that is growing inside her, and knows she is nearly the age of her nameless sibling he’d destroyed the year before.
He can’t imagine doing such a thing now.
Disgusted at himself, Gale shoves past her and out into the snow. The trail back to Tephra is long and treacherous, but he’d rather risk killing his host again than stand there in front of her for a second longer. 'You make me weak'. And he’d let himself be weakened, time and again, shedding power like it was something cumbersome thing. All to experience the pleasure and happiness that came from being near her, as if good feelings were at all a worthy trade for ultimate Power.
Wrong.
Wrong. Wrong.
He slips on a patch of ice, and jagged rock cuts at his legs and belly. The wounds heal - sluggishly - but he does not intend to look back.
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