07-17-2023, 08:57 PM
it's a mystery to me
we have a greed with which we have agreed. you think you have to want more than you need; until you have it all you won't be free. and when you think more than you want, your thoughts begin to bleed.
She shifts her eyes from the sky to the ground, not paying much attention to those around her. There aren’t many out with the storm approaching, and she isn’t expecting anyone to approach her. The Meadow provides a sense of security (false or true) with its vast expanse, providing opportunities for escape or a witness. Besides, she doesn’t care much if someone does attack her; there is an added feeling of safety knowing that she might reform if someone succeeded in attacking her. Wishbone doesn’t notice him until he is almost upon her, the sound of his feet crunching the dried, cold grass.
How many nights has she dreamed of seeing his face? She has seen rabbits striped with shadows and thought they were Malik for a hopeful second. Her mothering heart has seen him in river depths and clouds and trees. She has heard his laugh in the wind, has felt his warmth with the sun, and has embraced his love in her memories. Wishbone has spent the last years dreaming and missing and regretting — and now he is here.
There is disbelief for a second, simply because she has seen him in so many places and yet nowhere at all. Wishbone can’t deny it is him, though — she recognizes her adopted son despite his adulthood, has seen those iridescent markings shimmering on a hundred animals during his youth — and her wide eyes quickly warm into the purest expression of love.
“Oh, my heart,” she says breathlessly. Wishbone can understand the disbelief that darkens his face. He’d been snatched from her as a child, just after Gale had hunted her down and left her dead. She can’t imagine the lies that her son had been told. Her heart breaks for him, picturing his childhood as a constant game of deciphering the truth from lies. “It’s me, Malik.”
She would give anything to stride forward, gathering him up in an embrace. He needs time to trust her, to believe her. Her legs practically shake with the effort to restrain herself. Wishbone rushes to say what she has been thinking all these years, “I’m so sorry, honey. I failed you.” Her voice is thick with tears threatening to burst from her amber eyes, and she clears her throat to keep them at bay a moment longer.
How many nights has she dreamed of seeing his face? She has seen rabbits striped with shadows and thought they were Malik for a hopeful second. Her mothering heart has seen him in river depths and clouds and trees. She has heard his laugh in the wind, has felt his warmth with the sun, and has embraced his love in her memories. Wishbone has spent the last years dreaming and missing and regretting — and now he is here.
There is disbelief for a second, simply because she has seen him in so many places and yet nowhere at all. Wishbone can’t deny it is him, though — she recognizes her adopted son despite his adulthood, has seen those iridescent markings shimmering on a hundred animals during his youth — and her wide eyes quickly warm into the purest expression of love.
“Oh, my heart,” she says breathlessly. Wishbone can understand the disbelief that darkens his face. He’d been snatched from her as a child, just after Gale had hunted her down and left her dead. She can’t imagine the lies that her son had been told. Her heart breaks for him, picturing his childhood as a constant game of deciphering the truth from lies. “It’s me, Malik.”
She would give anything to stride forward, gathering him up in an embrace. He needs time to trust her, to believe her. Her legs practically shake with the effort to restrain herself. Wishbone rushes to say what she has been thinking all these years, “I’m so sorry, honey. I failed you.” Her voice is thick with tears threatening to burst from her amber eyes, and she clears her throat to keep them at bay a moment longer.
@Malik