the wolves will chase you by the pale moonlight
{drunk and driven by the devil's hunger}
He didn’t bother to acknowledge her comment about Dovev. That was fine. He would hunt down the boy another time. Woolf had all the time in the world to find the man made of bones and teach him a lesson; besides, he was rather preoccupied at the moment. It was unlike him to care, even a little, so the fact that he was willing standing here, interested was almost more fascinating than the mare herself. He would remain if only to discern just what about the mare was piquing his interest.
Her reaction to everything was harsh, biting, demanding, and he found he preferred that to the anguish. That still lurked, somewhere, but he preferred to direct her to the anger. It was more useful there. “No, you can’t.” He shrugged, dismissive of it. “But you have to be listening to hear it. You’d be amazed how many people, even those with the gift, simply aren’t paying attention.” They were just numb to the world.
Woolf raised his head a little and glanced outward to the beach, to where her children roamed, to where the ginger man was off somewhere. He shrugged. “You will likely not be able to keep your secrets from them forever.” It was just a truth. “No matter how hard you try, they will eventually rise to the surface. Truths like that always do.”
Another frown as he took a small step forward and then shifted his weight, getting slightly more comfortable. “Of course, if you did not want to keep secrets, I could simply remove them from you.” It wasn’t easy to manipulate memory, but certainly not impossible. Woolf could imagine why a girl like her would want to move forward with a fresh slate.
He glanced down at the cut healing slowly on his shoulder and then back up. He had almost forgotten about it. “All magic has a price,” a shrug.
“The price that I pay for mine is just a little more obvious.”
Woolf
