who we are and all that we're trying to be
After dinners and discomfort, after apprehension and consternation, all the beast craved to do was run; unhinged, unleashed, unfurled from the wicked doldrums and the wild storms. Tempestuous derision slanted along limbs and marrow, flesh and bone, until his blood boiled, and then it was only hound predilections, a seething torrent of swift precision, gliding over stonework, along market squares, and through alleyways. Minimal comfort in the rush and fervency of movement, in action rather than wallowing soullessness, in the drenching of one too many mistakes, flaws, and defects.
But he was not so adept at navigating Torchline, the region unfamiliar, despite prior sojourns (to beaches, to the sea, to something beyond worlds that used to be called home). The heathen’s wanderings took him directly to canals, not recognizing them from any previous journey, interlude, or travels. A tilt of his canine head indicated his confusion, and he automatically meandered closer to the edge of one, sniffing at it, portions and pieces of slate and stone running off into the water. Not certain of its purpose, he continued on down the line of rock, investigating, scrutinizing, and examining, stepping away from the sides, still following, trailing, along its wake.
It takes dying to know
How to live as ghosts
