"If I could fly I would never come back", you said
She had slipped up. Had forgotten herself, and slaked her hunger too much. Hunting with Edmund, with Remi, and letting herself go in the thrill of the chase - only to gorge when she wasn't supposed to. For a moment, a few short weeks, her bloodlust had been entirely sated and in the lull of comfortable satisfaction, Maea had forgotten what it was like.
Until it came back.
She should have realized what it was. Should have known that it wasn't just pickiness that made her turn aside the fruits she usually loved in favor of meat. When her nights grew restless and people caused her temper to flare up, she should have seen it for what it was.
But she had never gotten used to the ebb and flow of her instincts, and it wasn't until a dream of gnawing on the bloody bones of a friend chased her from her home that she realized. And by then it was already getting bad.
The white crow winged its way aimlessly over the Brambles, away from the city and away from people. Snow sparkled under the brightness of a full moon and made details stand out in sharp contrast. She could see tracks in the day-old snow, from hares and foxes and other birds, but despite the clear presence of wildlife, nothing moved. That was bad too. This was bad. In this biting, numbing cold, she couldn't afford to be picky - yet she couldn't go back either. Not without finding something. It was fear as much as hunger that drove her onward, fear of herself, what she was capable of - what she was created for.
She didn't want to think of where the alternative could lead her.
Until it came back.
She should have realized what it was. Should have known that it wasn't just pickiness that made her turn aside the fruits she usually loved in favor of meat. When her nights grew restless and people caused her temper to flare up, she should have seen it for what it was.
But she had never gotten used to the ebb and flow of her instincts, and it wasn't until a dream of gnawing on the bloody bones of a friend chased her from her home that she realized. And by then it was already getting bad.
The white crow winged its way aimlessly over the Brambles, away from the city and away from people. Snow sparkled under the brightness of a full moon and made details stand out in sharp contrast. She could see tracks in the day-old snow, from hares and foxes and other birds, but despite the clear presence of wildlife, nothing moved. That was bad too. This was bad. In this biting, numbing cold, she couldn't afford to be picky - yet she couldn't go back either. Not without finding something. It was fear as much as hunger that drove her onward, fear of herself, what she was capable of - what she was created for.
She didn't want to think of where the alternative could lead her.
Maea
