They say he means death.
That seeing him ends your life. Or means that you’re going to die very, very soon. If you can hear his gallop, or can see his silhouette, it’s best if you get your affairs in order.
That’s what I’ve heard.
The tales they’ve always told about the black horse. The one that vanishes before dawn. He has no rider, and they say its because he’s only an omen. Only a warning.
He comes back later, they say.
Rider on his back.
And, guess who they say his rider is.
Guess who they say he belongs to.
Continue reading “Dark Horse”
I thought it was…
Cute, in a way.
She stood with her shoulders back, braced for anything. Ready to get hit with rejection, to get hit by a gust of wind, to get hit with a tree that I conjured from the ground.
In that moment, she was ready for anything.
“For now,” I say, leaning over my boulder, elbow resting against the rock as my palm props up my face. “You may be my apprentice.”
And so it began.
Our spiraling stars.
Giving all that it can give.
Giving all that I can give. An exhale in the dark. A whisper that tapers into echoes. A single word given.
And it’s all that I am.
What a glorious night. Continue reading “Glimmer of Moonlight”
When the night waned, and the moon was full, I heard it calling on the wind.
I heard the wolf song.
Old and enchanted. Lilting and intoning. Bidding me to run, to hide, to go forth. Bidding that I get up, that I not be still, that I look.
That I find.
Follow the hollow in the forest’s mound,
Follow it deep, deep underground.
Wolves tell the tales of the things hiding in the dark,
Wolves tell because others cannot, death to the lark.
Death to the lark.
Continue reading “Wolf Song”
Blitzing moon that glares down at the forest, streaking the undergrowth with tendrils of lunar light. Small specks are lit up here and there, disturbing the tranquil dark. Upturning the critters in the wake of the night’s gaze. Always questioning, always wondering.
In the night, there are things that are seen that can’t be unseen. And there are things that are unseen that can be known, and yet, remain unseen. The forest at night is a magical place, a new realm. Home to the darkest of beings, the most silent, the most watchful. Night in the forest is a place, not a time. It is an essence, a creature unto itself.
And there, in the dark.
Sitting between the sparks of moonlight.
Hiding under the gaze of stars.
That’s where you’ll find me. Continue reading “Beyond the Moonlight”
The sky was blackening, the exact reverse of a whiteout. All of it going dark, simmering away into nothing. Wisp-like. Smoke-like. Stars winking out all over the damned place. Giving in, giving up, giving out.
And he stood there, smirking. Eyes hollows, empty holes. Eviscerating anything that dared venture closer to those dismal openings. That hellish hunger.
He stood there smirking, beneath the dying stars.
And I stood there, too.
Staring him down.
If this is the end… then…
So be it.
I’ll use it all—I’ll use everything.
I’ll give it everything I’ve got.
I won’t go down so easily.
I will fight.
Continue reading “Stealing Stars”
“Do you expect the light to return, simply because you wish for it? Should the earth bow so easily to your whims? Plunge others into discord to sate your despair?”
I flinched, convicted. Conflicted.
Part of me said yes. The part that was not made from stars. That longed for something other than the dark. That wished for the sun to return so I could warm myself against its gently sizzling beams. Those rays that would warm my soul like nothing else could. That part of me was foolish. That part affirmed.
Part of me said yes.
But, the other part?
Of course, it was more reasonable.
Even under the the heaving dark, amassing with stars. Corralling light and shadow together to create the beauty that dusted the heavens. Even as oppressing as the earth’s darkness was—as boastful, as ravenous—still.
Part of me said no.
…the correct part, more than likely. Continue reading “Shadow of the Stars”
They didn’t speak of him. Not at all.
The king with the white mane.
A notch hanging off his ear.
Ridges gouged around his eyes.
He sat in the corner, silently. Watchfully. His tail swishing mindfully as the others ignored him. Steering clear of him, because of his odd color. His strange scars. Or, maybe, because of the way he seemed quiet. Daunting.
He was an anomaly, honestly. Something to marvel. To ponder. Something to observe, take in, and marvel.
And yet, there he was.
There, in the corner—away from all the others—he sat. Just the tiniest bit of sunlight shrinking in his eye.
The white lion. Continue reading “Waiting For Lions”
It was dark. Hollow.
As I took the steps precariously with my limited eyes, I could feel them. Boring into me. Stars that winked, even in the dark. Unseen eyes that knew what I did not. Whose eyes understood further than my own could ever hope to reach.
Those eyes on me—knowing, waiting, watchful eyes—I continued the dark trek.
Entering the Temple of the Moon. Continue reading “The Moonlands”
We were wolves, basking in the glow of the moonlight. Chasing autumn’s heels as winter froze our game. Hungry bellies that ached beneath the warmth of our fur, our smoking breaths, our hopeful howls. We huddled through the cold, cobbling warmth together with beating hearts and heated blood. When spring came, we were the first to greet it. Singing praises to the melting snow and the blooming life. All things renewed in our meadows, filling us to the brim with new scents, new trails. And we stayed through summer as well, panting through the sun’s burden of heat. Powering through so that we might blend with the colors of autumn once again.
We were wolves.
And things were beautiful.
It was not perfect.
It was not easy.
It was life.
And it was good.
We were wolves. Together under the gaze of the forgiving moon. Hidden along the trees’ shadows, watchful and hopeful with every passing season. Looking forward to the future together with our eyes looking past the skies.
Now I’m unsure.
The foreign scent brings me grief. Filling me to the brim with something akin to summer’s heat, yet, it leaves me empty like winter’s bared teeth. This strange, familiar shape I see…
This change brings a season I’ve never heard of before. Winds that jar my senses with the foreign scent it brings.
And I don’t know anymore.
If we are not wolves…
Who will we be? Continue reading “Forging Seasons”
“What is it?”
I can say nothing.
I don’t know what it is. Why I’ve stopped dead in my tracks. Where that tugging sensation came from, or who. All I know is:
I felt it.
Beating along this string tether. Making my stomach quake. The hollows of my bones sing as the wind breezes through me, and I feel the drum beat in time with my heart.
No, I say nothing.
I’ve no idea what this is. Continue reading “Waking Willows”