she is awake.
the others are asleep.
she cleans her dagger with snow.
the blood leaves pink stains.
she turns the jewelled thing in her hands.
it nicks her finger.
she hisses.
she places the dagger on the ground next to her.
she peers at the wound.
i peer down at the dagger.
i can see my reflection.
i jump up.
she yelps in surprise.
i howl.
the wolves are awake.
i couldn't care less.
i have found a way to tell her.
i stare at myself in the clean silver.
black hair and grey eyes.
as i remember.
i reach with my paw.
my reflection reaches with a hand.
❄️
YOU ARE READING
Prince of Wolves
Contoi hear them howl, for them. for me. for flesh. for blood. and i wonder, i wonder if i'm supposed to feel so empty, so cold. ❄️ #674 in short story - july/august 2017 #216 in my youth - august 2018 -completed
