MABEL
A rare moment of grief came over her.
It wasn’t readily apparent by her features, nonchalant and stoic, unmoving as she drew across curtains of darkness, as she tucked back into her cloak of well-worn furs. Instead it was hastened in her heart, in the soft sighs as she maneuvered along the fields, as she twisted and turned over familiarity, over grounds she’d known for so very long, but could no longer share with the rest of her brethren – just Evelyn now.
It wasn’t particularly for her parents, they’d chosen their lot in life, to wither and decay slowly, at the feet of heralds and gods who didn’t care in return (no pleas heard, no begging answered, no reprieve given). It was for the other children, her smaller brothers and sisters, the large family with extended hands and wobbly smiles, who called out in the night over the hunger in their empty bellies, who curled up in between their oldest siblings and wished for something more.
They didn’t have time – but she and Evelyn had.
And so, for the evening, instead of hunting or gathering, she simply remembered and recalled. The snow before her was illuminated by the moon, luminescent fixtures hastened on powder, and though she couldn’t feel the chill, she knew it was there, corresponding around her palms as she crouched, hands maneuvering the powder and rime. Perhaps it was a poor attempt, to try and piece together a tiny, snow castle her brothers would have cherished and loved, the roof misshaped, not quite as grand as one would imagine. But when she pulled her hands away, there it remained, memories pressed into its wiles.
It wasn’t readily apparent by her features, nonchalant and stoic, unmoving as she drew across curtains of darkness, as she tucked back into her cloak of well-worn furs. Instead it was hastened in her heart, in the soft sighs as she maneuvered along the fields, as she twisted and turned over familiarity, over grounds she’d known for so very long, but could no longer share with the rest of her brethren – just Evelyn now.
It wasn’t particularly for her parents, they’d chosen their lot in life, to wither and decay slowly, at the feet of heralds and gods who didn’t care in return (no pleas heard, no begging answered, no reprieve given). It was for the other children, her smaller brothers and sisters, the large family with extended hands and wobbly smiles, who called out in the night over the hunger in their empty bellies, who curled up in between their oldest siblings and wished for something more.
They didn’t have time – but she and Evelyn had.
And so, for the evening, instead of hunting or gathering, she simply remembered and recalled. The snow before her was illuminated by the moon, luminescent fixtures hastened on powder, and though she couldn’t feel the chill, she knew it was there, corresponding around her palms as she crouched, hands maneuvering the powder and rime. Perhaps it was a poor attempt, to try and piece together a tiny, snow castle her brothers would have cherished and loved, the roof misshaped, not quite as grand as one would imagine. But when she pulled her hands away, there it remained, memories pressed into its wiles.
I bare my teeth
and stretch my claws out
and stretch my claws out
