[open] you're going home, you're rag and bone; any

[sochi]

there is a swelling storm and I'm caught up in the middle of it all
and it takes control of the person that I thought I was

There is something beautifully electric about the wolf-girl before her and it thrills through Sochi, her solemn eyes tracing the vivid face, framed by bramble and brush. She has never had an encounter like this before. She has never known what it means to have someone understand you so completely, unpacking the secrets of your heart without the words ever needing to touch your lips. It is almost overwhelming, and she takes a step forward unbidden, the gravity of Dayé drawing her closer without thinking.

I do not fight the wolf and in return the wolf does not fight me.

The words sit like heavy stones in her chest, radiating out through her veins, lighting up wherever it touches. How long as she spent fighting the tigress within her? How long did she fight her very nature? Trying to keep it on a leash, muzzling the predator that roars in her chest to be more normal, to be more palatable for the masses. The thought lights up her face, her silver eyes nearly as bright as her blaze.

“I spent a long time fighting what I am,” she confesses, although she’s unsure why she feels like she can share such raw, honest emotions with the other. “I am tired of feeling guilty for it.” She is tired of trying to fit into a world that was not made for those like her; she is tired of conforming and amputating the most vital parts of herself. She is tired of feeling like she can only live a life half lived.

The smile that curls the edges of her mouth is wild and challenging, the mare biting her lip in thought.

“Would you like to go for a hunt now?” her teeth are the first to shift, the blunt edges of them sharpening into a predatory grin. The rest of her quickly follows, Sochi shedding the equine form as quickly as she had pulled it on. Her hair stands on end as her limbs bend and contort, parts of her slimming while others fill out, the muscles shifting to accommodate the stockier, shorter frame.

When it is complete, her tail twitches and she rolls her shoulders, waiting for Dayé’s signal.

sochi

it comes and goes in waves; it always does, it always does
we watch as our young hearts fade into the flood, into the flood

@[Dayé] ugh saaaaaaame