The Wolf Ballet || WW2

41. The Wolf Ballet

Chapter Forty-One

One would be surprised just how quickly the basking of time could ripple over the surface like the channels of the steady-flowed river. Accompanied by the croaking singing of toads by the water, Savannah Fischer would steady herself as she walked down the steep grass that led to the riverbanks. Carrying a message from her mistress, Emmeline, she searched the green sward for a young French ballerina. Blinded by the sun, she lifted her hand and shielded her eyes in hopes of gaining a better view of the scenery surrounding her. Her blue eyes scanned over the water before ultimately coming across a mass of blonde hair sitting over the ledge of the Lahn bridge. With a 'tsk' between her lips, Savannah walked back up the hill and made her way to the crossing of the overpass. The day was a honeycomb yellow with the peeking glare of a newborn light. Many of the town shops were barely opening the shutters to their stores, setting themselves up for the day.

Ophelia who was currently indulged in a book, one knee folded up beneath her chin, wouldn't realize she was being approached until Savannah called out to her again.

"Surprised to see you up so early, we were beginning to fret," Savannah sighed once Ophelia turned to acknowledge her. A twinkle formed over her lips as she closed the faded cover of her book. Ophelia lowered her raised leg so that both feet dangled over the bridge.

"Sorry to cause a worry, I just—"

"—Felt suffocated?" Savannah cut in, a tired smile playing on her face. She understood why Ophelia had become restless. Ophelia was still long from home, and the war was seemingly far from being over. The countryside was void of bombs, but the smell of fire would follow the clouds. Even if Ophelia could find temporary peace in the town, Savannah knew she could not stay forever.

"I just couldn't sleep," Ophelia corrected earnestly. Sucking in her lips as she tried to shake off her weariness.

Ophelia did not want to seem ungrateful—she felt undeniably indebted to Emmeline and her people. She was given a haven most would have killed for, and for that should would never look down on her friends. It displeased her to think she might have given off such an ungracious impression—that was never her intention.

Yet, as Savannah suspected, Ophelia could not cope with the waiting of time. No more than ever, she wanted to leave. Ophelia did not want to know what would come of her if she stayed if she were stay close to Germany. There had been instances when Ophelia believed that was all she had to do, stay still until it all disappeared. Restless nights in which she would lay awake and wait for the rays to resurface; hoping the sirens would ring and the war would be over. But after recent events, Ophelia could not help but fear the outcome of tomorrow. No, she no longer feared the crying of wolves, as their howls had become nothing but goading sound in the distance—she was afraid herself. She feared her heart—her careless thoughts, her unbelievable way of thinking that she could ever—

Her mind would always stop there.

Looking up, startled by her rambling thoughts, Ophelia hopped off the ledge and dusted off her skirt. Her bare feet touched the grey-dusted concrete of the bridge. Together the two girls began walking back to the house, Ophelia dragged her feet as she seemed hesitant to leave the town. Savannah noticed her slow walking and smiled,

"I see you've grown more comfortable being in out in the day." Savannah chimed, as they walked off the end of the bridge and onto the road. "When we first arrived, I didn't think you would ever leave your room."