#I could see dew making like a den in a tree BUT if the tree is big enough mountain would shoved himself inside | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

libidomechanica · 2 years

Text

Untitled Composition # 8712

A ballad sequence

—The Grass, and yet, the fruitful South. A touch of heart from thee? Through that died seven century dead; but which cannot shed and the dead had peace, but praise, when we’ve here or these eyes so

suited, and a kiss by you, sir, to awake all used up for that dreaming rod, my potent river glade; and the strains may float ’neath master-hands, adore it, then hell, and die before

the sun’s sight I had a dream delicious wine doth she then bursts, and I, once a whole heart had heard no more, save against me proue her strong with the glowing at such sweet, sweet a

flower as love depend on Fortune’s shining? Where the world how deep! When blood is nipp’d, and the moon, to give what we see and the lily’s hue, the blabbing the case of those nature’s

rais’d, for they look down into a final aspect. Then die, that on thine, the rat; I know their great a curse. Blossoms comes this brow, but when obstinate silent though afraid of angry

power, fairing stops to a woodland Queen, with forest branches lift above abasement at the sky, or this generation stir; she cannot be given of old and

pour to death and warrantize of skill that, near a caverns for thy silver lute, with all his power, fairing stops to a woman, tired of an SUV and I unremark’d seated

in its object findeth not all grace and merry note, while in the heart high-sorrowful and such a stun came these? Of life, when the stone asks first day: seek out some ghost of us,

as I divine strange thing all night I miss. Lives there, seize on trickling honey-dew from behind. And are not recording its tenderest pressure, as the pyre of death, which

the ever dreamed. See, at another summer’s flowers of thine eyes twinkling eyes: I saw ane an’ twenty, Tam. I looked, how long prospers, Tis though she and witch, with that is all sound

my echo of you waking made of Man—the she disarm’d, and under the glow tells from a human face turn again. That fends thee safely through they doe as thought the dog became

china. So prevent of rugged his gonna be a cocked- hat once lust, life-disquietest proof such as feede, or love melons and Line, and I thinking what walls beyond tree of shall

night broad clear; rathere was he call, and with the tear our life; but the strife, there the God wote, subdueth! Almost address each other woe than our rhyme: what leaf- fring’d legend haunts about

it, but it is good, that things around the slave and rich with iniurie: who since I heedlessly did lack and a new life into his can you turn around so i can look into

your day of youth asleep. And overhead a vaulted, vast, this soft embrace; so nimble feet as silent that the woodbine leaves. Thou none lovest is most evident; for when our

life, I shall dance and palely loitering; thinke of trust! And evening, my life spilt force his jarring their offices in its den, and that one consuming their starry seven,

old Atlas’ children still in heaven, and manna dew; and him grew all those nature of their chosen one, that my adder’s service; who could scarce avails the sunny noon; gie me

then bite into the round him grew all things to peace between her kissing by, and yet once from the smallest pebbled shore and looked at the stem, to make her utmost breathless. Into

the right or wrong. Misery is greatest Gogmagogs, who dazzle us, whom though water in a grave, is that fester smell far worser far, the Doth shake him; but the sun.

Delight and Saint awake that four kids with all the sun and soldiers his widowed names did go, and thou can call their time

was so enamoured of joy or stood buy! Death thee into the moonlight line falling breast, than can the eddying wind.

Stuck in these coming, my own, my sweet life spilt for a prize so dear. As if death along the flower salesman i’m on

the sound as here silence like mine, the kindly dies, in heavenly guide; that our desire shall things and voices we

are deities will she believed his day i’ve been a little lower turns and kind, or to thy sweet; were it earthward

beneath their peer, showing its Ethiop berries. I wear that which to me, nor sombre chariot attains is airy goal,

haply some sweets, which for men? All records, saving love’s first discern’d, we, fix’d so, ever looks too oft in his slumbers

the glutted Cyclops, what a holy day, although parents grudge, and the slab: refreshment drowns itself, performing and

quickly, and where to a spirit in my swelling in between their sleep. Lawless war are scarce be right that nurse the real

rain, so vertical light and tremble underworld; ah me, o my soule fluttering in tune, by all that thou lovest

is most gentle bosom which steals into the sea, born long by the purest gold; a belt of strawberries grow. But ’twas

not love that he may hold upon the sunny skies. Within him; so, bent low, he had endur’d would God to me by these

are alone; the answer: There, where that I shall dwell; only the nettle-briar, cheats us into the sounds adrift

from sun’s way, that he well night have dismay’d alecto’s serpents; ravish’d thus, for many a sail of lone Eternity,—

and sore the morning eagle, ’twixt whose Minds are not soil thy purple with mealy gold the world lightning, and leafy

shaw, and silken couch of speech, its homicidal eye—and away fled every virtue, every side thing their own! So

softly kist, and die. That the denial comes again went noiseless stone, unmoved, cold, cold, and so Adieu. The church,

as the stars that come hither sex, the bond that widow’d bed sat silent-bare under things rare sweet life beyond complete

a thing, awakened: then to a married ear! Gear, was left unlaunch’d and trembling overhead the Germans were o’ergone,

at last thou hear her and ankles white and awful package, and that will not giving in the rash deed. Terrifies me.

And in perfection is decayed? To welcome that is this, little good, to margin, and past, for into and fruit, and

then something of thee beds of roses, and the dead. So nimble feet as still renewing smart. Or lie in sleep for while

both defy, not wonderful for sadness; sharpening, by degrees, his appetite to dive into a spectral bride; that

she lo’es me best can speak the awful shade us with the world of reasons: it seem’d he flew, the wall, for ever

cheerfuller? And no more, the bridegroom looked at the door at eve, and the light reached over the fingering stems they were alleys

of Paradise. Her bosom which surrounds her footsteps told, then can make her utmost breathing her that’s your gentle

tongue says beautiful. Heard melodist, unwearied, that churl Death my bones with other poem written with us, brightness,

more near, till with the parents grudge, and plague her till he found the lily’s hue, then bow downe my heart to be, then can

make her philters with; by time be come the lovers did end, and we will silent here. Fiers might have uncommended died.

Which never die, but if I weep it will come to bury me deeper, every summer- standing forehead woos? Of man, and thee I both defy, not with peaceful ornament. To

scud like a salmon, struggling into her through, the constant stay sets him of another’s service to senseless streams subterranean tease us out of the lovers gone, whose

silent as the Cupid a boy, and patient—all for what? More than we who never see; a night and the porch with, Let us look so. While the marble figures watch his name not

born fair, no beautiful and sudden, hast all bail shall praise thee for grammers for sweet, sweet self to be remember, an old man say? Though yet, heavens, nor ever wilt thou that tilted

tiny house by the Orphean lute, with all come on its ample stores of garnered from Endymion’s ear, now he hastes; so many things goodly and nights, a sunflower! The

Bliss from the reapen the tear: the no name,—sweets the barred we are gentle sing, and to chantine, for small ladders, as he why noon’s birth, it is to which you, breath’d deft, some Ground. At these

rites the virgin light of happy times, no less truth, truth and Beauty as this the touch of the old man say? From the ground their way. The shepherd clans: that went last unwound her gentle

sleepy frown glow-worms began to trim their offices? Why not for thy sake? Unlike are wed? With arrowy smarts, that swoons and then forgot, nor debar’d from Olympus’ solemn

their surly eyes burnt by cigarettes as she gives and night forgot, nor debar’d from the fire of love thee oft, I pitied. Come slowly from sin; but prudence think it has ruffled

ever a-spending; since Ariadne was written is to disappointment, that mad pursuit? Turn their joyous teats shoots a look back over his mental slough? Was I in no

wise startled. Daddy? I saw the giant sea above my heart is like car crashed, the new— born and beat, the breathing-while one hand, one che ches. And what of the marble gallery,

passing feet, driving, hurrying, but, in all this was wrought of the lights the jewel-print of your invective scorched the came upon this power, medicined death is but a little

town by river side outlet then is from a snowy gleam; sweeter thanked him. My dearest charm—she says, she lovers; and the dog became the British vermin, the tremulous

shower heal’d up the nectar at the rest of a wretch auaile whom they heard. Good-morrow took that wretch is he! For all the work of the day, thy soul. I the sere, and swere slyȝt of

þat burȝe he lenger brought my hart; her com a portion’d, as fair subject, he cannot she takes above us in place sende to acorded of houndez þay dele yow forȝelde.

The lips for a boy can’t interpret the sun shall be new and freshly teem’d with all my low last breath? The flag stuck in

the subtle food, to make thee why thou art so unprovident. On a voyage. And this is our wedding day; low on

thee, wretched wight, had I done to the last empty teacup, arrived with the Sunne which Loue hie set doth not a soul towards

him a large eagle, ’twixt whose lady’s heart with a safety pin to give ourselves who have no arms or legs. Pleasure and

its diadems; one faint eternal eventide of us we could dash the wane—and ’tis but unknown things around us.

Women at least kind-hearted man, express train, and thus sings he, and keep open my heavy heart, where Venus leaning

we were by me releeued. Stranger ay I pitied. There as he was contented day, where Joan was put to death in

man’s love a bed of tears as salt as mine, robb’d others, good or dwelling honey-combs of green, of every male in me?

Half-happy, enviable man! I will love her till I die. Depend on Fortune’s shining? The court chemist mixing

her that’s your graces and her dainty fairness now, circling about the skeleton shall be only the battlements

that elder love in thee another, each lush-leav’d rill. Both diffuse, and others, good or dwelling- place, the bitter cologne.

Those lips, if thou send’st from his ire. Of good found they return’d whither took than going to silver lute, while in pride

and awe; till, weary, he sat down, and go less. Entranced dulness; speak, and loving head of doubt that have pleasant grass and

curls blown. ’Twas far too strange, the sober sorceress, while though the nettle, so typical, shower of knights, a sunflower

is first, and smiles, her uterus an empty head, who, while with the scent and tyranny of love that bosom which

the mere sake of trust! And I will give you a root. And all those are high about the main tree still he found me here to

a final aspects the jewel-print of you, as he takes from the learnes in the heart with immortality of soul!

To eat the last it was my ear: hushed and daws, to the flood, or blind but in music clash’d in the bandit’s dead, and awful

wail of lone Eternity,— and her by the secrecy, and we will bloom most constant dawn upon? Amid her

comfort, now my shady springs of talk from the pangs of delights at me, a poor, tired, how dull is the past

echoing from instruments defaced,— and great deeds to pry, to find out he strains, and golden seed in the very pain, when

neither self, for love avail than thou rove, by wimpling burn and let me lead, a happy love died: it is only flowers,

the dying at your orange she sky, or the cold he had been froze to see it from the smiles, had waned from thee move,

come live out my eyes! Fountain’s side that, in default of better happen, we’re standing forehead, and the moonlight line falling

behind you were it earthly faces. This troubles me: but I placed a wrong myself able to untie! Depend

on Fortune’s shining sunflower, that died seven centuries since, and say, thou shalt by fortune thee sit beneath. But

mine, ’ so I sware to say, whistle though the pain, ah, what a trembling does usher my joy! Arsenic, sure, what can ail

thee, wretch forget who I am. Down sidelong aisles, and warrantize of skill that, near a cavern there is on

the battlements; but, finding passages, where she heads of the same feather made banked fires in babble, merely played but

should, that I do call my low last breath, why should have been wanderer, holding a little to fill you can hear my voice,

in thee, and thus sings he: but let my passion’d wiles, had waned from that whispers of this is he, that so we can go

together, hung his head, and the light thee her face and air! Can firmly force his jarring the sky, yet, I will be its name.

To watch and my bones with cares, and in haste, is laid. Root pity in the steps above his heart, I look as looks them down

while she doth lie so in my rhyme. Not to my ear: hushed and sudden, hast thought,—All labour is honour, when that men or

gods are shaken with their women and scudding all my heade, and others of either give thou canst not leave thee with t.

My spirit to tell me where no measure; ’bove his twiddling three. Of me and with angels look as looks them down with thy

silver light, or my lips renunciative through the meadow and icicles. With a thousand, that spell affright this

lethargy! But they mourners seem at such comes in my cheek open. When we do cry. I set her on my breast. To be seen,

without for men? On deck is dressed in black, braced for weather and the three forms of Hecate; by all that far all-seeing

me so dear. But for he came wonder why in the press; all else, we see day, and a kirtle embroideries of flowers

running spring, and seeing vision and whence far off appears and unleashes their exit await, from far lands

by my diligent springs of keen remorse, the king, and send thee to take its pool lay, half asleep I’m ninety and

takes, that oiled barber lays his party- secret, fool, to the dumb on high to sing invincible somewhere but i just

don’t know somewhere to give her to weeds or flowers running still and that only we, but all is dark around the post,

tired of tears have seen a new tinge in thee is raisde: it is thine doth always to blacknesse run, now, sun, look, asks first

time they mourners seem at such a mournful place of silk and sing you wouldst thus, and can scarcely lift a golden, or rainbow,

with every male in the goal of conscious lips do smile; there, in insolent ease the leaves, nor their way. A wrong myself

thou sprung in desert wild. Not blame; your breast there was a vintager, so they want to sing in lifting back again.

Of deities or mortal men, saving, perhaps, when thou art so gentle streams subterranean tease their sweet, but

you and you were in your patron; over the path is a praise from book myche to desire. Or so did shine, abandoned,

almost, yea, more endeared with you, tell her, in fair shrinking sound, as she eats betrayal like and lonely cherish

doth sing in lifting itself in the touch of Briar Rose but the end of words, or answered echoes oft tired, how

painfully quivering under- lip. How lone he was once more re-survey these toying hand to your warm you-smelling

bed-dent after parting still reade you will press train passing stood: those friend and make speech, you will not see thou needs must misse,

and yet, because thou love, what thereby beauty ever collide? Like to thee doth range, the woodbine leaves. To them thy mind;

those friends which euer shine on me; for fame keeps slipping off, arms limp as old carrots, into the exhaust pipe on oaten

straws, her with berry-juice? Love’s first time and Eve was long, her foot once planted on me. Though yet, heavenly powers: there

lay a sleeping jellyfish. Time flies hovered in for a mortal in the blue of ocean rolls a length my father’s

pocketbook. Where dost treat it, remember how soon our marriage is death in the chants of night till days and now sucks thee,

wretch, in whom all serious courtesy. It is to disappear so fair, or if it do, not for the floor’s cold bier.

My lord’s kingly flower heeds not her poor death were done, without accusing you, carrying, marrying, marrying,

marrying, but, fond elf, he was contentment reached over the tree; the little town by river or sea shore, down on

thy part of chief desire shall drop its golden mystery, and sacrilege, three sins in rigid sleep not in some

divine art thou, to whom thine oath to love me, love me! Not matter Marino Marini when heav’d anew old ocean

fades upon the gloam with his hair; another gay: in him the touch it; the ivy mesh, shading its tenderest

worthy I to be remiss: the holy and numb his bosom of a heavens, I would you have caught a vivid lightly

do inherit heaven dying at you to my hart opprest, there was a shutter loose,— it screeched! In the wine. The

former, it were still wind shivers bare and lightning of me. Thus fallen out of this days and legal ways of all, there

art the gate alone; the floral pride in a long-cramp’d scroll is in Apollonian curve of your face ablaze, yearning

to grace, peep for fondness—I am pain’d, endymion’s ear; first he, far away, away, the sky, or the water:

how! There was a sounding not only twelve fairies to the day so fairy-quick, was strange she sky, or these gleaming flee

to here soil is men grow, whether intellectual deeps in buoyancy afloat. And yet, because of the sky, vaunt

in thee a thousand fragrant in the meadow your voice by heart most unrest; that one storm, the ruth, the brightness, more than

that time, and after, straight in front of it in the world goes by and though I die thirsting. The lake’s surface-eyes we ply

the sea, that the sisterhood. From blossoms came down, down, uncertain to what you yourself may privilege your hands, turn

their grandsires’ thighs, thick myrtle branches, ’gainst the sky, yet, I will hurry by in trance girl is yours to worry him.

�� 12

Give rest, or quiet in the stone with thee remain with many a crowd of workmen and scudding along a weary

limbs, and calm, and beat, and completed. I know not what. There is not so; but I hear; ’ and so Adieu. Its high remember

how those vapours which snares his fancy: lo! Your voice my heart, Belovëd, I at last, with your mutter’d pigeons and

then one Sunday after than mine. I will give thou call curses upon thy choysest Art, so am I us’d by his

while stand anxious: see! The uncertainty and howl, and compare the blood replenish’d bride in thee, that thou shoulders, warm

firstling, to renew embowered high, beginning wheel and there lay a sleeping eye in all the gold-eyed serpent

dwelling. A film of hope and all, comes nectar at the preceding two angels look at each door believe when they never

thanked him. Or durst inhabit on a day, and yet in vain; and this withers even the day care to go so you

can hear me and what green on Marlborough Street, and hath set us young flame—o let me live with mystery,—and ’tis

but a little, perhaps her love was on the surf biting the shade. Love in store, to show false borrow’d face, those friends joy,

foes grief of her hand: which makes seen, the bonie face, and bring for ane an’ twenty, Tam. Do not, O doe not, from here on earth:

their wings. Swift, mad, fantastic roof, of those soft shadowy queen went even in toil; another gloomy arch. Reminiscent

of thy disparted, and thou, silently. Thy remember through a hazy wood, I saw pale kings, and to your

hand, a long whose falls melodious birds sing. And he in loud access of shrieking and loudly, as he would she led!

That far aloof cathedrals call’d. In hell they took a window light. How cold is that bless your name in that not say, when my leaping heart should a foolish marriage vow, which long absence from the edge. But if you laugh when women play upon

that they share, that this strange beside! A sign! Bloody earth, which its own dead. To critic and to and come to love that there is none that draws breathe a sugred bliss. Lovers pains; and like a child to gladden thee; how small bed to see the princely

Heart! Tiny house by this still and these poor sob doth pine, one kiss brings desire. With lots of tape delays and nights be term’d a poet’s rage and she’d never see; a night were by me releeued. Them told. ’ Darling essences, once hand on glass

and here we slumbering of these wakeful eyes may weep, but never a quiet luxury was in his shepherd swains shall we thy lasing powre dicerne. And so much for such man’s love! Here must be surely, some kind heart that brutal place?

Nor passion’d moan had more been heard. When old age black and shin’st, as is a dunce—perhaps, some swart abysm I throw all care

of the world let’s prove, that every thing else saw all day long; for since I beheld my sunflower, to welcome the wine.

She is standing forth his spear; but at the sun. Vainly express grief for thus sings that brings honey- dew from buried. ’Mong

shepherd vest, and the playful rout of Cupids watching his veil’d eye down sidelong aisles, and shrieking and revel

and with the sedge is withered from the time in silence, where shall roll, too many flowers. It’s in the hemisphere; by

dews and dry. They doe as the world except once I freeze and flimmering singer would o’erleap his destiny, alert

he strains in killing up, and face hid in muffling to San Sebastian partly because she lo’es me best of a’.

Partly because of the deeper. Subways there is a flowers felt his pretty ankle is a lady Godes moder be. Too keen in beauty still he fountaineer! Fell with this gentle closure of meat. Fairest creatures we desir’d,

and thus sings the sun’s sight can be seen! Infected by the thing the world how deep! Go, get you hence, gilded cheat! Just into metal and therefore so ashamed? Knot so that thou starv’d on the rough buried paths, embellish’d porticos of awful

package, and breath, and why a boy was her exultation: but, Alas! But the ghost of us, as I guess; and anon, uprose too, down over his moder was as dew in aprylle, þat fallyt on þe gras.—A merry and

glad remains. In crushing low! A goat stirs with iniurie: who since she does precipitate, while greasy Joan doth keel the post, tired of the deadening ether to a dive! With stubborn stream, we lay in early and rose that lately kissed Briar

Rose and unto a forested? Lost with the Sunne, When look’d the tall, dried grasses a goat stirs with never happier St. The rose in one speech of space and all her blue orbs! And polish’d porticos of awful wail of prison’d? Going

to richness from every tear was born of diverse passion; but prudence think about as in crushing, and nothing streamlet o’er these tender hoverings over the first of blessing, but, forget who I am. Great sculpture the main

to scud like a shotgun. With gages from Thames his dignity: for she protests to heaven, and high-favouring donor presenteth nought; and still ride on, we two may interchange each in this cannot be wholly, but till well night I

am duped. And he turned into the prophet’s ass began to speak for memories anyway, so bereft! That due of many now is at my table, circled around just for me: long I will do none, that there for me! To fainting

bees to the Indians scorched wight, alone in the courtiers, they heard Stay, see them i want to take a fancied city of soul! Too many eyes, and in your passing feet, driving, hurrying, marrying, burying, clamour and red.

Yet poortith a’ I could sing a faery’s child; her hair was long and flutes: it is like since all, my life hath its food serene Cupid with some monstrous roof curves hugely: now, as deep profound as those days are vast and great, O love was love henceforth

where its picture, give your teeth much leprosy. Ill, that press at its feature—auld Nature stores of truth; as ’tis kept secretest. For they in skin of Phoebus lighten’d just maybe you can make him; but thou to repair should sublime than

ours, a friend to make a lasting troth. Making all things rare now, sun, look, on the light of this dry palate would hear the lie to my soul deceives its powerful, these are high, descent; and another kind of voyage done! When this pious

talk. This pretty spies, could in the world rush’d: then all my lord’s kingly sunflower, we’ll measure and linger on her idiot lyre; and I love the sun, o’er many a sail of prison’d absence he hath, by Nature declar’d that fairest

nook, and flower star-shine to our former chroniclers. How much easier grow: we are riding Alexandria was, straight in themselves thievish for a century dead; but chiefly the steel-mirror of her breasts, and forth between,

above abasement at their woe, that poison our marriage, the constantly? Each check, with glad moning, passed those roses grew forming a greater name and what we felt only; you expressive love. Uplift thee; let that thy whole hearth grew

strong in their woe, that come and i would fathoming plums ready to snort their sun. Twain shoulder and for ever pour’d into my bosom of a heavy eyelids to the life or death, O Love, the music from the boy at the planet in

the time, and flower turns and this the tree; the schooles where been alone. That all a summer has forth, to do the sedge is with her eyes are the knot. And hear my voice, oh think it has every nested young: but all ornament, itself out,

a long-cramp’d scroll freshening sluice! The hollow silent. Alright it’s gonna be alright it’s gonna be alright it’s gonna be alright it’s gonna be alright it’s gonna be alright it would do nae mair: hers are the golden keel’d, is

left me, and dared?—The holy bower, trailing air will gulph he wept, and a Hierome, by the Muses; then the spur of the time in the touches in thee, my sunflower for very strange; they do grow, I Through winding course, from me?

Has he was journey on he hies dazzled to the bend in thought the deep caverns for the keepe no men abide, the scope

and then to star star cadencing aright. How soon our marriage vow, which bore my love, why have come into his own gray

with something dreary cavern there flutters to mortal, sounds again he caught he, how long must see, with deep-drawn sighs was

quiet smiles white? Love make life or death and my brain, without the rose is blind Orion hungry sands. Tis sometimes of

the dead, tis under truest bars to this planet in that men or gods are so strong in tune, by all the air; yet wait

a sign! Vast and griesly gapes, black polished as leather, down over his mental statue of stone—and away fled

ever an endless sleeping jellyfish. For the burning in the harvest’s done. After the lily’s hue, then, quickly,

and sacrilege, three Hesperean; to his noble though death had come to light of love between, above my husbandship.

To melt this stranger, you turn around the world anyone ever lived, the other, like deliciously; so wound through

my kneecap and I hate feeling about Pomona: here in your elastic case, blind-hitting lantern, through it soar’d,

and, after death, from me far off, with unusual gladness: awfully, the young, the instant dawn upon? Which calls all

creatures speciall grace, rose Aylmer, all went well except once made eternal hopes, how more than at the roses were warm,

he’d call, and seeming skin. Which from upper day thou couldst with mine eyes so suited, and mirror of her legs’ sincerity:

and rather make hot fire. The dead, the rusty nails and fields are the amorous thrush’s song. Talks o’ rank and foolish

self! Her footsteps; no one can stick in his exile; where, ’mid exuberant green, do boast the marble being: now, as

deep profound as those friend, and had touch’d his forehead woos? But mine, ’ so I sware to tell, but one muse’s smile, lest having

thine, the trees, in times far away, the sun? Yet, I will to be set free, nor can my flames; but for Germany.—White bone.

Drying in the pain, ah, what a trembling does usher my joy! And sing we would love me! And dipp’d in love away. For

she knows, it is good to feel you there! Our court beside, and striving drift and thee. Since now to the river of the pleasure

the flowers. No one’s fated or doome the real rain, so vertical it fuses with shoulder at O lonesome me.

For pity’s sake, give you a root. Without all is their toothed maws, their scarlet ornament of thy foolish self! To her,

great king, glad life should keep open my heavy hand on glass and each night he learne; thinke of my breathe one breathing to sigh

for, or to doff thy shepherd blows his nested young: but all were crucified. The ocean’s moanings had burst from these sorry

pages; the bridegroom came forth, to do the sand and fellowship in these: the loves in all those experience which

for me! A naked waist: Fair Cupid, when sweet evil unto her entrancements warm starfish. As if crooning course.

Further, I must not vain: I and my final end, marriage temple is; though even in sleep: the day of empire and linger’d—joy and feasts, and praises from me far off, with

sweete success. It must such a fire, O heart, Belovëd, have no peace in wild forest old; and that I have your warm and grief. As they in the Frick which in mists to hide his heart of

me and I said that I were rippling round my soul of bubbling pride demurs when passion; but the rouge lately glisten’d, but from shore of torment spar’d, would show: sorrow after death?—

Now thou shalt thou to reply: she is hostess, I am blind. Yes, even it, purple- pillow’d with her eyebrows of the river. Hers are shall out on this huge stage present nor

the float of Thetis. But, when new wonder why in the wall. Pigeons and where was borne a voice, oh thinking; there is withered from deafening sky. Is it thy will their sleep. Blackening sluice!

There is not meant for music’s cage, whose ioyes, whose lessons new thou needs must strives its own dead. In through the different and

tyranny of love: too long time is at hand and blossoms scent the maggot born fair, no beautiful. He turn’d a rhyme? And

my heart by heart of time that is old, and with anguish moist and gray, the roses heard to make more or less truth beauty’s

rosebud garden of girls, Whilst thou triumph’st and gracefu’ air; ilk features, take her now; tis true, the tropics, to arrest

without her with the traditional South. In muffling to see the holly’s sheen, that claims of it thence at all, but

mine, the tree; the silly bogles, wealth, where Venus leant she and I. On her face. King of creatures, still unravish’d

thus, one knows well who do rudely move him, and wear tubes like to a dew, fell sleek about me the British vermin, the

bed. In her discern’d, we, fix’d so, ever since he died and high fantastic round her comfort, now my great deep being!

But far from such comes soothingly o’er-arching till ioy makes me oft my bed, circling their toothed maws, their images I

love to any, who for the portrait show seems they came all the golden age ’mong shepherd clans: that will be together

in a grave, is that not sleeper? Blushes: yet mutter’d, the next year all pumpkins! With common fate of a wretched and

exorcised. Renewed, say, after parting for the body’s mask of the deepness of a desperate lovers know.

In an ancient mansion’s crannies and born of the roadside, succulent peaches we boughs, from whence here might charm the finest

wool, which vulgar scandal stamp’d upon me dead. And crimson mouth, for ever panting glow grew still for the silks. Ah,

’tis the chains across the world of thine own will, full well night knows my lord the fainting at the rose, where she sky, or there,

betray how she knows, when blood made ye white and ten thou yield’st to me, and yellow leaf drifting itself in the west, made

jealousy? Moving, rapid, merciless—breaks like a feast; bold Lover, never sounding green leaves and brain went to sleep.

Hath left me, and say, after tary, the lone woodcutter; and light in front death to a lyre, touch’d earthly faces.—An’ O for ane an’ twenty, Tam! I desperate beam, and slow

time, and seating o’er enormous chasms, where to go alone and fling his paces back into the same: the eagle landed him, and forget his woe-worn minute’s space, the king of

the thousand, that hideous torment spar’d, would start and thankful heart, and wood, that dreams, and far upward to think the back of your feet—too boiled and dark, let us fly these pleasant

name! Dying swells with suddenly than think of slurry season of this new-born things and bracelets too, and fragrant in the morning with the unaccomplished from their pinion

in revere:—by stirring up a cypress sprig thereto, With a thought controls the burden of girls, then guiding hands and long by the gate alone. Holds in perfection is the

past, for that. ’ Twenty, Tam! A king have sufficed, but if such gifts as mine eye as interbreath’d, came mothers love unto the sacrifice? Or for thyself thy face, then, flying sun.

Where we turn to yonder girl that can see the table set and a private affair within my brow; for what is the

pale light and then not understood and bracelets too, and forth between ye; yet poortith a’ I could fly with turrets crown’d.

With the unshapeliest, meanest lump of clay, with her love will tak my part, the amorous thrush’s song. The tan of brutes,

would God to me the kindling lustre of an air odorous and wheedle a world has done to the roadside,

succulent peaches we bought from that does not when December blights my woes for the parents taught thee oft, I pitied be.

Slave, an awful package, and in the cold splintering, thou wilt be gone away, and even weep to think upon, to

give a green footsteps; no one can taste it, nor dost waste in niggarding. Fair Pastorella in the waters clear vanish’d

bliss here sone chewing a star and restlessness of a large and yellow hue and gray, and— in the weekday weather

and sing, and did make a show, as deep maw he rush’d by on either side outlet, fathoming plummet down your rayes! And

out the lake, bold Lover, never in the color is brilliant, a gang war wrapped&cut diagonal at the dog became

these, but a voyage. Like old Deucalion mountains, so that used to wow me and who will climb, in the staring-owl,

now, sun, at our entreaty stay! From my sad bed of some monstrous roof curves hugely: now, far in the hand, and, just prove

as lordly and lay her in part ’tis his, after long time doth with liquid through it scar’d! And see what the youngest of

day: these tender as delicious. Has come that she that matter, and your lovely pallor which time shall care of others

might, and now it’s dead when to heaven seem best? That which hides your bonnet brave, i’ll seek him in your parts of me to thee.

For some kind hear he lov’d some fair immortal charms. Sent me by my auntie, Tam; but, finding could fain find and blue and fling thy purple chequer, nor the floor, that their languish. To

mortal tear-drops down the night-wandering sun, for love doth tread, with all come one day may bring him, somewhere there for a century dead; from me again. But, hear’st thou this beside,

as the fathers all the portraits in the dew. Loves, Graces, in the Carian’s nose looks them down while greasy Joan doth a moment, here am I deified. I am on the

bitter tale of Launcelot on a day, and all love her graces graced be; thou could weep, it could sip the cream of light was a thing which thank heaven, and goodly and lawless way,

that lived and dry. That one stroke, may do and down and then the dazed eyes as whether he cameras want to see how each others but strains may float ’neath master of a darker hue,

bewitchingly the strings, with no stones I els would thine alone. Thus breathe and I. That hast thou overcomest so, because I love Frankenstein! In backward yawns. Unhappy Arethusa!

Delights to perfection meet, though much, is not signal loneliness in disguise, and a prince, what pleasure of though the gloam with wide eye he wonders ceas’d to flatt’ry so

listens mute in an ancient mansion’s thine, come cool it among the grave where I dream a little here together if i could be wroth to spoil his soul will ’scape us—O

felicity! Ah, what treasurer, give rest, or quiet after death? Have thy garland great, O love with you that this line some snow-light can be desert, I am not a flowers,

and poesy. You will not fly from the smallest pebble- floor, that our entreaty stay! Just so much of heaven seem best? Till she be dead. While falling; recall not ask a kiss, I

dare to say, is this, I cannot be. And be my love in me? Old ocean rising day; low on the Abbey-stones. Alone in the other life’s dearer than to be marke of Cupids

watch his sleep awhile we never a March-wind sighed deep, great sculpture the answer, ’ I said that, absorb’d in it, he saw this cool as aspen leaves thee alive and the white arm,

and frantic-mad with your muttered their great self, as I divine! Lilies and faces going to beare coles of thee beds of roses, and As if death, I would tell her blue orbs!

Yet, alas, he finds her dead. ’Twas a city from Greenwich hither side, as they first day: seek out some few hours the

carefully laid back down men’s love! You will; to you, put out my hand on the worth of beauty shoulders, made jealous miserable

strifes, murmurings, with none, but a world may end to-night? Just for you but you know where thou love in me, more worth of

human words—Ah, have I invoked thee. At first infused with the night. Our souls! To bury me deeper, mellowing the

choice between an infant’s steps: great self, who straight in front death in the planets rotating in uncertain to what you

mean! Much leprosy. On silence like a rocket, which soft ravishment. ’Er their offices? And all ye offspring the

grave where your love of meat. And are nothing evil I have been heard. And so, you grown with a safety pin to give a

dole of bread, a purse, a heart from me far off, with never love and ringing O darling essences, beauty, for that

does not what. At last night her gilded bed-posts shine, strife. You, I engraft you new. Leading vine creeper, ever should have

caught he, how long-needy Fame doth euen grows, fairer lodged than gentleness, and of hideous torments there is manna

dew; and his capable ears silence fell with light the devils with a safety pin to give a greater, as yet, that

themselves so, another; for all those ears silence, and the preceding two angels look so. Are yet determin’d to

them of kind, and the wheels go over my heart from clouds, to whose Minds are shuttled over with change your very souls, we

feel amain the close my hair uptying with feverous fingers cool and lady-smocks all silver bow and onely

annoy. It seems the upbursting cold: a wild rose-briar, friendship and dost advance as high remember how thou didst

thou be denied! Or purplish, vermilion-tail’d, or finn’d with eyes of pride! With golden, or rainbow- sided, or purplish,

vermilion-tail’d, or finn’d with this generation waste, the bridegroom meets that beats, a family- likeness to it must surely,

some sudden fell those tinctures than she is, the surgeon’s carefully as the marble floor’s cold bier. The visions of

thee to be remiss: the hole in my leaves of mortals, or of both, give rest, or quiet to my scalp and my yong soul.

Your love-sick queen athwart, and beat, are yet determin’d to thee. I have a bliss to discover in her eyes brow-hidden,

hast all they, but mend thee. Vexing constellation, humming tone came louder, and say, after long to make hot fire.

Such play as this the villagers. But the while beneath their mother Cybele! Ye who have made me a smile, lest having

thine, the utmost breath that they want to sing and given grace and meanwhile I clasp thee that mad pursuit? In trance, into

a bee, and thou wouldst be, if Loue learne; thinke of trust! His dream a little dream there was a nymph uprisen o’er chaos:

and the coale in the last ride with me. Heal’d up the nectars— alights, and like the eyes light, the pathos with the

impatient stay, tracing fancied city of delicate, as the Cupid is sword to one white and tenor of thee. And

we whose dalyings, without a sun thy vision and where sleeping, turning Contempt shall this while stand anxious fears question

that doth bereave my soul deceives its powerful, these wakeful eyes may weep, but never can renew the chains

were built. To get the skeleton shall not matter,—and you, w’are met, and purple with savage glare, where Joan was put to

death in thee; let thee breeds vexing Mars had chosen one, that living flower made fruit of work, not one this, I might never

spells; yes, every part was contend one moment, here at the sky: sae warming, sae charming, her pretty ankle is

a spy, betraying his weary limbs, bathing that dream and I am but half-dead; there thine own bright eyes? At dinner,

she is hostess, I am told. For, fails, since Ariadne was a cruel snare in a shower of blossoms comes this

state; but with me. Except once on a flea-ridden day when her kissing by, and purblind amid foggy, midnight we

are our selves, so far beyond, a garden lake I stood, For ever new; more happy eyes were wreathed green. Do you know

my shames and rose the golden shields, far-piercing pawes as spoyle when I perceive myself respect, that they may richly

feast until we taste it, nor prest cool grass, nor hill-flower as love henceforth thee, that all a summer has forth, to

do their fruit. And all I dare to say, whistle a little thing all night knows in heart, I ‘Tis even can make known.

As Angels, muse, to seek to have taste the lords and out the garden where silence like the peach, or ripe October’s faded

marigolds, fell sleek about as in a bar-room around things that lived under the while with such a season is

good to feel you think the back the river, get the shrinking sound—he stept upon that thou by praise thee for grammer who

sat at my winding course, from sweet, and ’gan to enclose his diamond, set to fray old darkness from thee? Tracing fantastic

figures with touch most delicate and reproach. A feast; When look’d the judgement of thy jealousy, with newer might

to me are not her, for only I saw my good does not what. Into something, nay tis my head; not let any man

thereof nourish languid mazes overgone, at last their ghost-towns, almost fear the linnet’s not a man was as vague

as solitary felt assur’d of happy melodist, unwearied, and keep their leaves. For grammer sayes, to grammers

for the temple is; though the world that shone again. And point out my love: too long, though to itself it only we, but

it is a praise from a snowy gleam; sweeter; therefore may I not be ever in their sleeping jellyfish. For when

our autumn blush; and virgin-white, by this summer breeze of morning on myself with the evening, my swelling-place, her

eye, as at once: for who can fear too many flowery nunnery; by silently approach’d; oft turning Contempt

shall I thee? Touch it; the ivy mesh, shading its good-bye down whelp to crave, being youth of fondest beauty only

so are needful at the grave where sameness breeds my delighted breathe my poison on thy guide; that our destiny, alert

he stray’d half seeing himself had done it already; that thou to her. Of noises far aloof cathedrals call’d.

—An’ O for ane an’ twenty, Tam! Has no eye for memories anyway it’s in the ring, and what can see nought earth,

when this flea, and mad, when beauty in their stream. All breath, a flowery nunnery; by silent as their rents. Forming

and restless love, tenderly unclos’d, by tender feet, and the clear; and onely annoy. It is the one breath, why

shouldst hunger so after death, O Love, and shadow of death, which the echoes away. And does not soil thy purple grapes

and the cargo and thy bidding, I do not do them when that is that bosom shook with airs deliciously. Had a

fourth time shall not giving in thrall! Thou that pink snapper and my discourse as madmen’s are, at random from the impatiently

sat down, uncertainty and she woke up crying: Daddy! Would so abide? Tell her loudly call for the twelfth

fairy had a christening for that beats, a family-likeness to its separate self, in the verge of the kindling and records,

saving the church hath made trothplight dream and I said to the door, my friend to man. I’d say every tree, mocks married

ear! In human passion; when every vulgar thief. This little, perhaps, whence far off, with other. The ruby niplet

of her tremendous tear hath dearth of human kind. With window light. ’ And the slave o’t; robert Burns: fie on silence

like those have done no work but the coale in the Frick which I blessed shall dart on his prey, which doth emulation slow,

that hadst a pain like the sun she lo’es me best of the alphabet, Logos appear, than the leaves, nor could content, happy

eyes as whether thick films and shadow of death. Night; and either can those friend of ”—“Now thou sprung in deserts?

But if you cleave they hurried change she eats betray how she repays my passionless; that dies with the place, this fears question

that tilted tiny house by the Muses; then they never wanted anything but this tries and thee, the passion’s

thine eyes most lowe, I crau’d the earth, and a silvery heads of a thousand, that would you haven’t gone to thee, wretch’s knife,

too base touches in the old man of seventy-three I lay with his bow; his quieting, he went into the peach,

or ripe October’s faded marigolds, fell down the same dark looking on my breast there, dear! And lay her in amaze:

the bloody earthly worth nor for the rash deed. Is that not sleeper? So that such a fire, into the spoons and kiss their

wings over my bed there was a soundless sleepy eyes amid the Spring in all hearts, which long ago was made, oblige

us to each maid that all mean, poet? She found her sweet content, happy, enviable man! Of trials, to whom

my being sips such darlin’ darlin’ darlin’. In sacred custom, that drop adown that loves tip with newer might one

long I will her loving thine, the past, and more been to her. And griefs united two, will last the sky, and left there, dear!

While they are these coming and quiet? Circled around the unmilked weight of sepulchres, were soon alive: for if you laugh when we do cry. Torments there under the boy Jupiter: and her eye, and shuns to haue had force along whose cool it among those ears silence came heavily again, feeling, to miss the kernel of his lyre; there was never

in that there, or, like dolphin tumults, whence we wear fetters whose wings, streight wraps me in his night: the great a curse to read the traditional South. To make themselves to gaine, by this sweet life beyond complete and a’ the lave o’t; robert Burns: fie on silence like a salmon, struggles, far beyond, on light of the general gladness: awfully he standing,

she and loops, a good shoes as well as any other poem written is to die with, hand in hand, never, I aver, since Ariadne was on the middle air, the physician, blabbing the casual solitude. How each others but stewards of this dry palate would do nae mair: hers are these, but mingled up; a gleaming melancholy, so bereft!

The warld’s wealth, when our autumn cometh, as it cannot be. Say thou art, with coral clasps and ever and then not understand that all my love anyone. Your love is but strains may float ’neath may die, but Love into the Indian graveyard, lie down on you, near and nights thy brow he still I die. In a case of his fairy journey homeward to bed;

shut fast to me the flat, wet gold of the time, and like any other until into the darkness, my dear Lady, let me then bite into the rough brows of these coming of life to tell me where we mighty Poets is made nullity! There we ride, in fine. From whence at pleasure of their surly eyes burnt by cigarettes, her with Time for love doth range,

the breath, and if you have thee with unusual gladness: awfully, the youth to mine! As the freshening silent that I can give? Wants to be beleeued. And wounded on sinful loving the grandees! Go, lovelorn, lay sorrows come with slow, languid paces, and fairest euer; stella hath refuse to light tiptoe, fain to what you yourself, the black bat, night, has

dared to the morning, sir, to awake all us colored boys. At you than all; from thee. As at once I freeze, I freeze and fear! Love in such a race to my greedy licorous sences, once hand on to the milkweeds’ honey terrifies me. As though we were nowhere in thy lips to thee his nectar at the world’s eldest dead, and know that his embrace had

zoned her that same feathers all things when it grows holds in perceive myself respect, that is old, and more than we who never can those have left of me and I am beautiful the mouth to these may know all tendrils green, I roam in pleasant ayres of garnered from Sol’s temperate now at lengthened wave to the secrecy, and without the chains were zombies.

—So kissed Briar Rose and found her scourge, succour of lies; who his own great ships and eyes have seen a new tinge in her eyes

run liquid broidered all without her wind, which bore my Peggy’s form, the fruitful from the shade. Nothing but love, silent

here. That is so profound as those have sufficed, but is profaned the clover-sward, as in cruelty, do not,

O doe not, from expense; they are them i want to sleep. Now that I have dismay’d alecto’s serpent dwelling how to

entice her tongue was tired of thee. His noble though its spectacles and the dawn. My fears, that lightsome dawn that keeps

virtue hate, hath filled, with should by time that leave and love, ye wrack my peace in passing. Great Dian, who cannot tell my

sight, for ever press these delight was quite awrie, to the dull angry lightning of things goodly and rose, The bride in my

sweets, at sunny skies. And after, straight like a child to gladden thee; how small a particularly heaven seem best?

Of yet another gloomy arch. But Love is but as the light and fear! Sundays too my father pat me frae his door, or were blue, autumn, yes, winter was indeed. But grammer- rules, O now your wofull Maisters and this, and fashions end!

And hey, sweeter; therefore delay, young traveller, in such a deuil wants to banishments more than we would o’erleap his destiny, alert he stranger ay I pitie now the season is passion. Is it kind of worms, my body being

dead, trod under a vile physician to my great deep being! Cypress sprig thereto, With a tear, and me, giving to go so you can hear my voice, he had been a girl, for all the wild rose-briar, friends they heard. With insufficiency

my heade, and shadow of my breast lie down into the body’s mask of the likeness of body is most gentle pair, and shows the marriage-bed, be kept alive, which steals into eyes, and in your eyes run liquid broideries of flower-

time in silence with their ghost- towns, almost address each other now; tis true, despite of view in the other now; for should by time be come to pass as for a map doth Nature store, that he were shorn away, as if, athirst with thy

sweet life should have been heard. I look at the tableau intact. The latest dreaming melancholy; a dusky empire and light and trembling knees like the Atlantic Ocean on my heart draws breath in the weary minstrelsy. Falsehood,

in striving thine, night forgotten clear, vanish’d, still read, his forehead. Hid from Endymion’s clasped hands of falsehood, in sure wards of truth; as ’tis a ditty not of thee: the lyre to searching twa laughing dreary cavern there little thine. Where

thou art, within the world’s wealth, when all aloud the wild-briar bloom most constant dawn upon the confusion worse, perversity unties of myrtle crown. And more or less takes from another’s hand, laid on Hampstead. Dissuade one foolish

heart beguiles my heade, and others’ beds’ revenues of the evening-star’s at once over against an endless pleasure and her that lived and lo! How careful silent though against an endless prison. Was music from the sheer witness

of a darker hue, bewitchingly to every friendship and dost advance as high as learning moves, to their should not scoured their glad parentage of journals thou survive my husband and my mind! Under “Tu-who; tu-whit, tu-who!

He woos his artless dearie; the silly rose-wreath now and deck the shade. The ignoble nature’s chime, Wherefore me:

persecuting fate! What need to know. Since Ariadne was wrought; and all express tu-who; tu- whit, tu-who! Best, with eyes

most gentle closure of torment spar’d, would seem a cuckoo- strain comes to the wild-briar is sweet ane an’ twenty, Tam!

Saw them my hopeless grief of hers, the close above the sun, and we will shade, out of the brain; yet, in our Love. At which

it contagious game: hiding thee, that even bury a man; and thee for my Jeanie. Have added be, at her lips

my Nectar drinking. In the same,— and thine own bright sun, at our entreaty stay! Passed thy nail in blood made of chaos.

Will be on your though water in amaze: the lyre to seas Ionian and Tyrian. To wild uncertain kind behest, there

she does deny, ah, what can ail thee, I obtain from rose- coloured to strike in: I can conceive; and this ride. Who knows

well nigh fear’d to see the knights be term’d a poet’s rage and yellow ledge holding a little things to brood on with dust

shall my low last breeding, while greasy Joan doth keel the prophecy given as my life hath put on nature of meat.

With coral clasps and even more fun than got a fall; the while another self, who stand is, and the fresh each hand hath been to hear: O let me love! Spirit that they both are old, our wood, that not sleep without a sun thy visions that draws

breath, and is lost in that when first of blessings interbreath’d he to himself along the ground of dancing so you can hear me and beat, had I been now if the gusty deep. Can it be quick and forget his work, not one things to Love while.

As my youth: but the might appal! Is it kind of waking! A marble, we’ll measure have, life’s dearest! The wind,—and now there’s the luminous passages, where we two made it an oath. That tend thy dear virtue, every side they happen

in our light; thou canst not further graunt to me too such a deuil wants to be identified by what you mean! Wish I knew. Comes nectar’d clouds, to whom thine heart-beat go astray from her dressings of a valley, the boy at the sparry hollows

thee, yet renounce thee whispering for ane an’ twenty, Tam! Who can reach. Stella, whom, O heart, I looked forward. Streams adown a solitary felt a hurried in, rubbing the sweet, but this enjoys before the amazement, that, self-

murder added be, fearing them thy mind; those same feathers that still my heart henceforth where Venus hath left me, and light and doat. Though I was trying to the soft caressing more near, till our species, in times like to desire my sight? The

king of this sweet ane an’ twenty, Tam! The latest dreams. And send them now for your thought he, how lone he was journey homeward fever dew; and so he kept toward them not; their sister- tunes from a sunflower!—All dimly fades into the harvest’s

done. Taught thee to the blanching, vertical it fuses with her that doubt’s pain cry, Speak once more, that tongue says beauty lived under thrill, though shadowy queen did weep over his sullen eyes: I saw ane an’ twenty, Tam. Ah, what it is

good, to march in ranks of beauty,— that is this, from his thigh lay dormant, mov’d convuls’d and gray yearning moves, but let my passion’d moan had more than think upon, and said: My child, favour this cool wonders to thee; that one ever pursued, they

had learn’d new change; whether, breathless. He did so, stiller world let’s prove may read in though afraid to me the king and flutter’d, through these may know all those vision, is dark as night, nor night. Their names upon a misty, jutting heart henceforth thee

how to mine! Part of time, which hides your back. And this mock-cold hear he lov’d some fair woman, and sense. That thou not be beloved of the world speaking within the way so easy was; and like one prepared to the tear comes ane an’ twenty,

Tam; but that this is my sin, ground there: each tender as delicious. Alone, in words between ye; yet this mock-cold hear the bounties the bowl I offered up. In heart, and of hideous torment’s filling for ane an’ twenty, Tam!—Nor in

one spot alone in great Athenian admiral’s master- hands, and long since he had been froze to see how each other. I should have been opened and violets upon a dulling page music to my love: for love of meat. Stay, thou survive

my well-content; a simplesse meerely? In all unworthiness of his woe; what promise hast thou bear’st thou dost hear me and merry note, while every- dayness of the heads; unwrapping until only a memory of day: these

tenderness, full of sunshine too, down whose infrequent smile can warm earth’s greatest throne, and overhead a vaulted, vast, o’er studs; and makes me sin awards me pain. It is, to thee it feel anon the soul of many now is thine doth lie,

made fiercer wonders ceas’d to and freshly teem’d with the echoes of Troilus and kind, or were affair within us. And pour to death—most like a tree breath of heart by heart most unlike, every day, and who can fear too many eyes, which

surrounds her foot out of prison cup, no penance. To love had been a-toying, and shovel dirt on her idiot lyre; there’s many a soundless prison! His ear, now holy church, as the chilly sheen of icy pinnacles, and

dark, let us know what this misty spray, a copious springs! And who succeeds? Are glowing hot. Dost thou canst thou kissed through a dim passages, where this the cold, cold as dew, impetuous as rain, the thoughts are mutual Victims laid,

that mine eye awake; mine own brightness, my impassion is the pyre of death? That same Adonis’ shoulder and my breast in the last few steps, before. Mouth to the deadening ether this mock-cold hear her and o’er the name on the real rain,

so mighty ones who have your liberty destroyes, but far from him; but now is at my place, thus much comes quiet death the thistle a little flower as loved I view is pleas’d more, that elder love Thy shed seed, O shining?

—An’ O for ane an’ twenty, Tam! From the hearing owl, thou send’st from clouds of yellow leaf drifting your precepts wise, her

graces, the age to Chastity? Like planet’s sphering to death took life from a friend? The former, it were alleys; and

with looking on his hand, through. Yet, you may haue some dim yesterday? So from the trees. While greasy Joan doth keel the port

the outlet the fluorescent? And never call was he takes from out my heade, and to hand like a tree breath so sad, so

melancholy music, you grown with pleasure is Addition grown; we both diffuse, and hearts, I though all the planet

chiming clear, and hear her prayer was one, so deeply by ourselves thievish for a while I live. Up: is it sings his

dream a little thing, fire particularly sets him from the lead and my breast. And that makes me the alphabet, Logos

appears and unto starry seven, old Atlas’ children and dry. Art as black was not a flood of crystal. In

the world except possibly for the day so fair, so from thee. Ever about it No time, no though that house, the breath,

or what shall praise to praise in the trees with her, all those bonds which shall my best doth bereave my soule fluttering-wise rain’d

violets blue and by the Muses; the breeze some holy perfumes of prison. A fourth time shall it been a Sultan of

brutes, would start and will seize on trickling honey-combs: alas, hast thou seen bolts of two women play upon the bars

that claims of it the nuptial bower? His party-secret, fool, to the stars that claims of its minstrelsy. Aver, since

nothing but this tries and palely loitering, breaking. And mosses, twinkling eyes: and Between the balance: right!

And away fast, our hours to work but love the city. In a minutes, by their glad parentage of love the city,

and say’st that same love the crowns and yet many more, I will make the prey of worms, my body being at you will pose

with arms outstretched wight, so haggard and sinless way, that thou be denies; shee, lightning from thee? That time, and thaw this is

he, that is not meet more than these arms? Your leave. For endless sleep I’m ninety and thus: I need na spier, an I saw

what my high triumph’st and gray yearning my rude ignorance. I’ll seek him in your straying faith of meek forgive, and say’st that

brow of hers, the youngest of a Vice Lord’s do-rag. However the first time and what good does not why, and whom I look.

Where Truth and smiles take on before the rising day. For very idleness? A burnings come to loue and so woe-begone?

May read in the worth of that hideous human passing noontide rain over eclipsing eyes, to the rights be

dead, with notes shift in these very tune of love against us and kind, or to the end where quince and strange light were nowhere

in the brood. And died, and ’gan tell me where she led! Make thy lasing powre dicerne. So shy, grave, is that far aloof

cathedrals call’d.-Section of this is human life: his youth approach’d; oft turning prayer within the sun rose of thy

dear virtue up, and in my sleepless maiden, steal blushing into my blood! Latin King gold like Munch’s Scream Fairies’

prophecy given as thought of happy boughs! Feet went swift beneath. I my offended mistress went unexplained, no two

may interchange each in her eyes run liquid broidered all in vain; and thy presence he stood; like old man say when

he comes clear. Scud like Munch’s Scream Fairies’ prophecy: The prince, are yet so we can gain is to come would tell her that makes

me then by some bower, all best excellently approaches of mossed oaks; counting his forehead woos? Whom my being—

had I sign’d the body’s mask of thy dear Lady, let me weare the knights to perfect strains in rigid sleep of thine,

one kiss brings desire is dead when the wild rose-briar is sweet dream deliciousness of the gift of tongue aspire

to the dreadful bow. And these toying hand she ride, ride together if i could give a pang to jealousy? May prove

that we see of sex, to rob the creatures speciall grace a doubtful spirit did he plain, moving others do despise.

Had I said to the most proud heart at dance-time. You will; to you, looking within us. Now that not sleep for while both

did play, and now long must strive and awful the morning; if these shells, my charming, her simple cotter’s faded marigolds,

fell down the night air beat upward conquer Loue; the silks. Who are these? He is in his odor. To joy to joy, foes

grief, and fairest euer; stella hath refused me! It is my breast; out of the Impressionists do the soul, or writing

car, up went to sing i’d say every shape and sing a faery’s child; her hair was in the battlements; but, alas!

What! Wherein t’ave had ranged with such gifts as mine, but Love is death, from the smiles of thron’d Apollo, could that fair face by

her plain, valley and wonders—past the sun shall we bury him? That, near and plain; anon the light of me: so then to

all this growing age, a dearer birth; let us know what thou bear’st love came heavily again, indeed, seeing him,

somewhere but dressings in a dream and I awoke, and distant, ye shed not in my e’e, to thine, thy soul deceives

its powers, so then the blue of his crime, can reach. The inside, from hands that dreams, and we will all the real rain, so

vertical light into the dazed eyes amid the tape-recorder not merely played but should Fate sic pleasure and lo, wonder;

in that flag what is that can be seen! But meeting head of doubt but I am nailed into nought; and, happy love!

I set her amorous thrush’s song. We wove our arms together, for ever pour’d unto the dusk alone bent over the temper’d lightsome dawn that still may leave her to Rowhampton

gate! A pleasure of my love to shun—follow’d—for it came at first infused with angels look so. Within me: wherefore the summer of pearls, and traveller, in your heart

by heart, and one said to the dust beneath the cat’s ear and the tall, dried grasses a goat stirs with its food served in the meadow and architraves; the lily whispering on the

last words upon a misty, jutting shapes of curtain’d o’er the traditional South. He did so, stiller, not for ever and fold him fast to me the black beauty still all these

days, to honor may the Lady FRANCES drest now, sun, and golden grain; by all the air is full; by all thy streets for ever old yet new, changed magic, till well night on my should

I descry such? Vast and griesly gapes, blackening silently. You are those whom Iron doores doe keeper was one, so full of the hollows its stalk in the heart is like two

grubs on the roadside, succour of lies; who his own gray with the house; everything, nay tis much: but who am I …? Streight wraps me in his odor. To live a second life spilt for

a shelter for the rapidity of your neck. His head, who, when through their birth thank heaven: thou dost heart in a cloud, sunset, moonrise, star-shine too, good- morrow took that I were

rippling round alive, that elder lovers pains; and you. The hoofs of the core all other city doth shake him eerie,— o why should have comes to think I’m dying. And if from mine

eye as interbreath’d, came swelling you about the dawn. Will be blest the silk was, and ever and an accordion. Would seaze me, and here, undimm’d by any touches ne’er touch’d

his face repos’d on one another gloomy rest? Love, in my lordly sunflower, but is every minutes, by the most sweets, at sunny noon; gie me the likeness of a large

and shadowy queen athwart a flowers in vain, ah, what have I really got such power of knight whose holy and roses, and only herald flew aloft, follow’d by glad

Endymion: woe! What wrong on the woody hollow, that valley nightingale a melancholy music, forc’d him we were born, or durst inhabit on a living flowers, and

your redeeming ever bid the Spring in rich hair awakes beneath the same full fringed lids a constantly? The latest dreams the solitary moan—and ’tis but death.

Enter brauely euerywhere, there we ride. To give disquiet, which can turn in a minute’s space, and there she gazed and under thrill, though each shall see, and I will her simplest heart

is harmless as mine? Came mother like a marble cold he had so highly set; and into stubborn streaked vases flush; the crystal wall, and me, asks first, and now long milk-bloom on

the sorrow only the balance: right! Life into his cheek where I sleep not in kind of prison. But ever within, and like true hypocrites, admire; warm-lighted breath, a

flowery nunnery; by silently.— Perhaps not a heavy ignorance. Heart will with them. Extend a reaching virtue early and anguish moist and snaw; but aye the tomb bestrew

wherein t’ave had brought. That much I am to wait, thought controls the burden of a hated the rash deed. Like one prepared to sleep, like saucers, over call back: Hello there!

It reached over the fills with grief, thou, best of a’. There is no sleepless maiden, steal blushing low! I made a garden. Powers, alone, but if such growth of the sighing years re-

sighing, while she doth changed not any hearing Burton lies, thyself at least breath’d he to himself into a hundred-year sleep awhile we never call was here on earth, which is

not meant for music’s cage, whose silence came with silvery heads of a thousand fountains, and all things, praying heauenly Stellaes name. Found there, in insolent ease thyself thy fountain’s

side that, near against my fears to follow’d—for it came at first infused with a becke, so tyranniseth the milkweeds’ honey terrifies me. See the knight whose holy prelate

prays, then learn how false Art what bounds can onely Winter-sleep.—Thus the throbs were blue, betray how she knows, it is plain, moving more near, till with their charge, and then the snow, doth

more a woman. Their surly eyes were barks, wind-wafted from the day of empire and palely loitering; the silvery gauze; yea, or my offerings give. As your Venus,

bending loue, displaying on the chariot; dark foldings thrown about me, on me, as from mine eyes from a snowy gleam; sweeter thanked Like saucers, over calves, polished fate.

Why was Cupid is wine, alive wits nor my five with a sounding far enough to blights the bottom, bleaching an hour’s

space, and in your eyes pity, sir, find out he stood ’mong lilies, know, since all, my life hath proceed, wraceks triumphing, but

grammer sayes, to grammer who sat at my father drunken from poore Slaues vniust decaying. Rose- briar, friendship and doat.

And then the sedge is winged his old love me a smile, lest having that grief contain’d in the day? Walking indifferent

meanings—through a hazy wood, to the sun, here lives in delicate change us, neighborhoods we move into these alone:

courage, poor heart alike conceive; and so woe-begone? Abrupt, in middle, therefore me: persecuting fate! Nude

Despaire, my sunflower and crimson mouthed shells, my charm of which do breath, why should sigh, and thus: I need not say, This poet

lies: such a season could write the lips for a boy can’t interpret the sky, or this, I might unused stay from hands

and dyes: a scowl is somewhat to myself with excess? Come her silver iterance! Tired of thine own bud buriest

thy lips to grow! When he did lack and bit were not you and I, once spirit fails—dear goddess, help! That is the night knows

my love anyone. Which looks them down while though yet, heavens you haven’t gone to look at you mean! Of rivers, nor ever

parches up my tongue does deny, ah, what can ail thee, wretch forget thee to the second head; ere beauty’s success.

A gown made of the forced forward. Green every doubt away; long time we’ve involvèd others but strains in killing through unknown

thing, even by their marble, we’ll give you yourself may privilege your eyes thine oath to love and recorder should

I obey my own voice is upon these eyes! Shall not see the tableau intact. Is a simulacrum to all burden

of a hand to guide benignant led to where you may haue some startled. In babble, merely played but see her philters

with spent force along the shrill verve of your eyes give what we loved, as long, though against an endless pleasant ayres of

beauty’s rosebud garden for each silly bogles, wealth and mock me, and this state; but now he plucks it, dips its stalk in

the graveyard, they are these arms? Balm! Is it not euill that change: thy pyramids built up with this general gladness, on he

hies dazzled to each other. Left there is a flower honey, when I venture! And you, w’are met, and Life through their

unsuccess. Love into a puff of smothering on every spirit-voice, he had swoon’d drunkeningly bends over you,

lifting you to my love for you Dear Perenna, prithee come into your eyes amid the noises of cowslips bind him.

So might have dismay’d alecto’s serpent dwelling in between, above his head. I’d say every bloom of hermit

Age might have sighed all with the traditional South. With no stone at his head, and my yong soul. If I have a world without

fewell you can stick in his sight; and, happy, happy love! Set, the breath? All night her gilded cheat! My heavy

ignorance. Lives there I shut her wild sad eyes—so kisse, which I hate but kinda like in clams as one bespeaks poor hygiene

and seemed not shake and dell, and find it is but echo’d from its boundless prison! The bowl I offered up. The suddenly

began to ponder on all he the silks. And bright and fashioned tirade—loving, rage of the churchmen fain would seem

a feather’d leaves of moods as many a holy and obsequious tears, thou dost seek to have to quench my breath? Shall

be true, and sing, and neck, your eyes brow-hidden, hast thou hadst a pain like the Atlantic isles; or that most high deserts?

Your hands, turn their toothed maws, their sun. Bursts gradual, with cares, and by her plainings drew immortal tear-drops down the tomb

bestrew wherein my lettuce which in your most gentle youth before have, life’s best for queens to social pageant historian,

why, why didst bid me bring him up, to do the tear comes frozen home in pail, when beauty; fonder, in your thoughts,

my Thoughts: in mercy then hath got my use and she’d never make thence to run in amorous rillets downe his lead into

place of death, I would hear the likeness of guilt—of guilt, perhaps not a keener lash! The office; yet no less bear

up beneath. Deny that there we turn to yonder a vile physician to my early exposure to Frankenstein.

He fastened around they may richly feast until it reached over his memory; then I who can fear too many

questions where we slumber through the world goes by and thine heart from serving that death in the bounty of a king, glad lover,

when with different voices marry at the tape-recorder should Fate sic pleasure first day: seek out some fair and stretching

and cloistered in the west, made jealous by thy content, has dared not a tear: but commun’d with me and beholds new

sudden; for none e’er approaching reefs. Though even in hell they turn in his vnflatt’ring glasse: but one impious; for, sweetnesse,

loue, while I’m asleep, in grass and round me here be upon thy bridal house, the tan of brutes, would give a green-

white, with a sound, haply, like a saint forget the stone; the flowers, peacocks, swans, and wonder; in that dreadful smiles oft.

On the garment, down the night, when again he caught some ghosts, the dead; from me far off, with a sounding grotto, vaulted,

vast, o’er many stars, thou wast late a huntress free in—At these woods. By those dusk below, came more of beauty which else

would show: sorrow and the slab: refreshment ever pour’d into niches old. That we, enamoured of the marble.

Such was my breast: look into your dimpled arms. From whom mirth is displeasure, let not love’s austere and sing, and now there’s

the lake’s surface. Partly because of the daughter of another, a lord of fear, love turn’d himself he flings,

committed to get the spirit in my ioy, and I am but half-dead; there darts but we ride. That feeds his heart most unlike,

O prince found whom thine aged top, and fashioned tirade— loving, you roll down on your hall, a flower made fruitful

from the hollows in the measure is Addition grown; we both did play, and soothingly o’er their sacrifice? Lives the

holy and lash’d among the golden grain; by all this quivering of Leonardo or Michelangelo that

tilted tiny house by this still as solemn height, and on glass and each cheek, and his love thee and me, in violets upon

me like some sweetest things and farther looks them down while they wane, like to thee, how sweet and fairest joys give most sweets

comminglèd, as when he cameras want to take with me. Can you see her passion fill which I though water in a grave,

and crystal spout-head: so it did, with horrid warning sight, who all things, praying heauenly Stella hath refuse to life.

Doth she then bursts, and poets better, drives there in October, the new—born and be a dead man chatter is enough, sweet, sweet ends. Beam of you, as he to move from year to year

until I see there under the pale light He forced every vulgar thief. On this can scarce avail to pipe now ’gainst thine own will, full and face fronting their sweetest, here am I!

Rose Aylmer, all were wreaths, and overhead the Germans were crucified. And hey, sweet, and thou wilt be stol’n from mine eye as interbreath’d he to him, who had drivers in a grave, and her eyes upturn’d entranced dulness; speak, and level where

to go waste, where Truth itself it only I Fawne on me; for he, if he had passed thy nail in bloom, and of counsels deep, great sunflower for very shape there was a sinner and be my love. Your midriff sags toward signs painted Peaches.

Be glad life spilt for a mortal speech two negatiues affirme! Sure wards of the horse alone; the angels went distract

and moveless woe till itself, performing God’s own gray with no stone at my place, thus far I count my gain, the press;

and lonely madness he had grown ethereal and his last words not say, where Nature store, to show false esteem: yet

so they embrace; so nimble feet as silent here. The cuckoo then, on every spirit fails— dear goddess and each night

is only twelve gold plates he asked with her that does his fair eyes run liquid broidered all in vain,—to bless the worms

that when the churches have sighed deep, and of sighs came vex’d and pettish through the sun rose on the sun of poesy disperse.

From sweet, though old Ulysses torturing punishment, queen Venus skies, be duly done to loue and feasts, and love me!

True Love, for ever press these lover, compare the worm quickly loathe; and, whence here alone all thy foe, to thy face, when

from poore Slaues vniust decaying. There is one of us we could lay her in part ’tis here is cream, deepening rubies, pearles

diuiding. Amid the times, like the pearly cup meander gave my young flame, lie with quilled dahlias and then not

understood and sulk against thing strange; they are sill the rest: o my Electra! Golden shields, far-piercing speech two

negatiues affirme! Is miserable strifes, murmurs, or delay, young travelling, to miss the solemn height, pouring donor presents

immortality of you, so long to make a wretched wight, where he used to dote; nor are mine eyes twinkle twixt

pleasure it is good to feel you than all; from the bowl I offered up. Now forest old; and the cadencing aright.

Now fareth he, that one ever pursued, they were alleys bend into the very pain, when I against thyself to

pardon of self-doomed to love and ringing and clatter, and you, great Pan-festival: his sister- tunes from out my eyes?

My husband nature does deny, ah, what a joy to joy, from expense; they are not you? Yet the forces we had returning from love’s austere and palely loitering; the

sedge is with doue-like murmurs, or delay, until I see her and the old ways. What colors is it made trothplight decrease, and if the brood. Have, life’s dearest Chloris’ dearest Chloris’

bonie lad that would give a greatest Gogmagogs, who dazzle us, whom we can not reproving; or, if it do, not born in an ear in its darkening on that now a

schoolmistress went unexplained, no two made in the woody hollows the mouth to slumbers the glutted Cyclops, what thou or he would he have dismay’d alecto’s serpents; ravishment.

And sadly press’d; for I heard much of Briar Rose and beat, beat into my stomach on thornes; so anxious found, whose winged guide, until it reached a splashing foil for some kind hear

the golden, or rainbow, with his while stand anxious fears were clear moon, the roadside, succour of summer evening-star’s at once—and heavens, I would start and twirls. In ev’ry other

until none e’er approach’d; oft turning forth such growth of the least breathe and glad remain in twilight waited tiptoe divine, a quiver’d Dian. It’s today: all of me. Nor casts

his memory! A weary as I am? Those same feathers that claims of it the nuptial knot, to the meadow your voice is upon the rose weeps, She is coming and queen: when

thou dost seek to have made his heart. What did I know, my loue should have been a-telling from life, here, grows old with eyes of others’ beds’ revenues of the already; that one

continual haste. Sound as through the evening-star, through waiting sound, haply, like lark over hips, those roses were Dem my eyes! My plague thus comfort,— and your love of youth, or change each

in this huge stage present of the thunder hurl’d as from a snowy gleam; sweeter; therefore, I hear a dead man there little for me who am I …? And like a feast ever so

little here been alone in chaffing restlessness of a mayden was never did them I look. The cup of a heavy heart full of tender feeling, to renew embowered

high, full and farewel to the deadly feel of solitude: for vexing Mars had teaz’d me even to thee, youth, which in mists to his cheek the sheets will seize on trickling dew.

Kind to have your hands, turn their sleep. Through unknown—o I do think they’ve made me first time and Eve was long, alas, is more

innocence? In His perversely our bombers had chosen bishop celebrate, to the sphere? Blue heaven: thou dost

reviewest thine alone: their mothers do abhor, with fingers as long dead, and a thousand jutting here in your muttered

words spoken light to night on my sleepless bed: but he heart to be accounted inside, to carry within the worth

my comparison of bliss, is misery most do show, who, thus whisper’d: Though the world lightning loudly echoed times

like car crashes, books that can speak the awful wail of prison. You are my all their parts of me to her, great ships and

against the dazed eyes; the holly’s sheen, that doth not kneel for what can speak the awful the bitter horrors of his queen.

By those nature’s chime, the fleshly eye, that themselves to-day, the blood of innocent maid!—Alas, I burn, I shudder— gentle bosom grew, your charter is so proud of the dawn.

Front of it in the hemisphere; by dews and did make a show, as if’t ad been froze to senseless as a worm in my

leaves there, where I dreamed, ah woe betide, the scope and ten thou rove, by wimpling burn and let me the flute, violin, bassoon;

all night her call was heard, while deeper. Singing through winding pass away in solitude. It is why I’m telling

honey-combs: alas, he finds they had learn’d new change: thy pyramids built up with newer might to me are not kept, hath

left me by sad Vertumnus, when new wonders to the envious meant a mere upbraiding grief, and just as embryonic

chickens grow very shape and tears. We may but pass as for a century dead; would he not in kind of prison!

Thou should be somewhat to my arms with immortal tear- drops down here in the month of your ideograms, how only

a yard beneath the world’s fresh each silly rose-wreath now and deck thee why, care not so great: it is my bride, my bridal

night I’ve held by time doth the despair, half-taught in front of it in the blue of his song with the pleasure first ill-sounding

far enough, sweet, and overhead the Germany. The wild-briar is sweet moan. Robert Burns: glieb o’ lan’, a claut

o’ gear, was left unlaunch’d and dry. She made a garden, Maud, the empty head, and who calls all creatures for their rents. With

words were wreath’d so thick with many a wood so saw he panting glow grew still for this gentleness,— not like and blossom

fell into the floating cry they tremble under the vanish’d in elemental slough? Dwelt in his wandered the

cosmetics and take me unawares while greasy Joan doth against the soul of many, but this his chant from clouds, to weep

and princely pow’r, which thou diedst unwept, as thou laddie!—At this, little thing, whose flitting Boy, since he had spoken with doating

can why thought it would not nap or lie in sleep, the woodbine leave her till I die. Why didst bid me bring and keep their

earnest loopholes, and gold, ooz’d slowly from its maiden queen, what which physician, blabbing lips he stood; like old men of

less thee, and flower in that death in the sounds its pleasant ayres of garnered from Sol’s temper’d, out he stood: those that such

comes frozen home into the weekday weather took than got a fall; the wharves with thy tongue— lute-breathings, streight my wings,

with mealy gold the world’s garden. Round flower of knights to peace? Glen, where there? There are deities or mortal bower?

Before me: persecuting fate! Our Hearts are echoing, Come! He was journeying in the sunny noon; gie me the

whispering birth enchanted grew before my Peggy’s worthiness of loue that living this I best perceive myself

thy fountaineer! Her poore Slaues vniust decaying. Go, lovely pallor which is his chamber, myrtle wall’d, embowered

high, beginning near the sceptred race; ah, what atones? Her eyebrows of thee beds of rosy pride, in midst of a’.

Make my brain, without fewell you, hopeless grief contain’d canopies, spangled, and me rules with his sleepy music,—why advert to the stone with life forget his woe; what please, it

is good to feel you that paint you suddenly two years later, you tell what we felt assur’d of happy in some hungry sands. And a cypress train, and like two grubs on this life

and golden sun from the closet alone and point out my love’s banishments more keen than Christians know that I think on the old—born cycle. All around there lay a sleeping eyes.

Strength to hear ‘Shall we bury him? After than thou shalt not heed my lonely cherish doth pine, one sigh doth emulation slow, the streams collecting, mimick’d the bonie face, when first he, far awa. With thee remain in twilight each May morning

eagle, ’twixt whose wings, shall carry me away. Art thou, O cruel! Black polished as leather, down the goal, this troubles me: but I adore that fail to bear their own! And yet, I’ll love him, and by his rise, in active men, his name one in

loud access of shrieking and fling his pardon of seventy- three I lay awake and hear my voices, every tear was borne from the sheets will rue it: for queens to its blue of trials, too, I diligently peruse. Me to see how each

one plays his beauty still my zenith, euer shining? Sun, and his capable ears silence of the dawn. I lo’e best is o’er the other’s pocketbook. We’ll give you a root. Running wheel and this secrecy, and shoulders, made jealousy? And

no birds sing. Vesuvius is deferred. And mirror of her breast lie down here is soft embrace had zoned her head, and from the rising up the world, or else this gentle wind,—and nothing dwells in me but snow and ivy buds, with base

infection but che wel may swych a lady sweet and bit were born. Or worse fault, ambition, I confesse, though the year that we, enamoured of all the golden moss. Come into a bitter horrors of his misery is greatest grief

of her who refused me! Like swine or other through the shrill verve of neck and I almost fear the setting all my art and ten thou hast not love can be seen! Sensual feast with mine eye for me. Porch with, Let us look as looks the shepherd

throne: ’twas cruelty. Those lips, and to Jupiter cloud- borne Jove he bowed, and shalt remain with such gifts as mine, but the gate. When with cattle here been a Sultan of the night painfully quivering on the rites the villagers quickly

tied to rue the end where was a hum of suddenness did me along, like the bins, comes nectar-wine, then nightly treading vine creeps beside things ill, that God be good as God hath been to hear of every pen, reserve to pitied be.

And said: My child, come her silver lute, with a nose, one this, so might grow proud of the Impressionists do them when thou rove, by conquer Loue; the right to night is only flower, so cool a purple: taste these, but all is a spy, betraying

his weary way, but thoughts: in mercy then he’s so piercing pawes as stone; nor sigh of his queen. And the horses beat to that he could in the dead had peace, but a voyage done! Down one speech arise from out my heade, and no birds sing

madrigals. A dewy balm upon thy paine, cuckoo; cuckoo, cuckoo! Art left thereby beauty still my heart, I look. Sir, find out her waist, and I own, and had not be said a sin, nor sombre wholly, but till shew the imprinted silence.

The wild rose-briar, cheats us into the grandees! Clasp thee through those sweet evil unto her thumb, as inward from

the impression far above, dancing music that is the world’s sunflower! And given grace them in rhyme so, side by

side shall still one muse’s smile, lest having that breath? Without an echo? Of moods as many a heath, through our bloodstreams.

As dew in aprylle, þat fall so; Christ. Save echo, fainting creature; but renewed, say, after long toil and true, making

no old to dress his bloom! May prove as I am weary minstrel-life that in its hand, that wondrous night, nor night.

There is no old to dress his bloom! It was a cruel lovely- head! As of song. To dive into the Atlantic isles; or

that I be a criminal.— Helicon! He fastened to your mutter’d with all he had brought. Tamed by Miltown, we lie

on Mother’s hand, a long whisper’d: Though that death who had driven out the heads; unwrapping until I saw a crowd of

workmen and scudding along the milkweeds’ honey terrifies me. Man, enter brauely euerywhere, from thee mid fresh

numbers numbers? Beyond, a garden grow, whether with all its buried lover, what high ioyes for his o’er the open

wing of the dead, long dead! And I distilling odorous dew, and swallows in which whales arbour roof down swell’d an airy

form, thus much as here in your slim, express; and another’s service to death—most like a wild bird, and all ye need

to scare Aurora’s train pass-and- repass of morning gates of the roar a radio. Divided joyes are shut against

thyself, and hath its punctual, mysterious, none can taste it, nor passing through a hazy wood, for ever

wilt thou to reply: she is pleas’d more than aught in front of it in the bridegroom looked Woe is me, well-a-day!

Would show: sorrow after sorrow to the flies away. Think of the watch I whilst they mourn, becoming faith of meek forgive, and silken couch of roses, but Ornament. Adoration

waste, a Kate, a Francis call; cuckoo; cuckoo, cuckoo-strain comes to the bells upon a misty, jutting on Latin King gold like all night I remember, never, never,

yet ever, as yet, that inspired place where together, speaking with, hand in the gentle bosom which passion drew cloud, sunset peeps into knots. Poise of leaves, nor severer,

Maria, thy fate, hath filled sight officious sun, O the wound, and I am black cold, the cold hill side. In midst of all the porch with, Let us look like bluntie, Tam; at kith

or kind behest, the curse changing and question that drop which gaping lies between the rights of brotherhood. No, not to have that I be dead rous’d by his rise, in active men, his

name on thy paine, to fainting creatures than she is stuck in a time machine. Made a seared dearth, even to thread all courts and my branches lift above his head from labor in that

would take them happy, happy eyes and in what of all the word repeating himself, and the marble being: now, far in the procession! Of rivers. Are shall prick herself on

a strangely alas doth shake and he doth lie so in my hand, laid on Hampstead. Thus is his old grief. Changing and the parents grudge, and by her plainings drew immortality,

who canst prevail against the stars that shall not blame your eyes burnt by cigarettes as she earth close above his tomb let us entwine hoverings over think on their treasure,

would be together and there crost toward them thy mind discourse as madmen’s are, most rude Descend, young mountain’d hill! Things sadden her. And my breath? I will not one upon him; then, my

Muse, now Io Pæn sing; heau’ns enuy not at my heart, and pity doth the Sunne, Who, in all those after death and moveless woe till itself out, a long whose green on Marlborough

Street, and this thy crescent? And dying swells of noises far all-seeing all those same dark curls through caves, and woo thee his nested young: but all our species, in times far away,

as if crooning could dash the waters with his spear; but at the dooming solitudes, that beauteous roof curves hugely: now, as if for Moses and husband nature doth lie, made

fiercer by a fearful deep, to hide—nor in one; shine on me, O eyes, and loving that grows thy pity may deserve to pitied. And all the nuptial knot, of love vast antre; then

there, dear youth, which, when the shore—gold cup, a rose, a ruby, who fears to Art, her voice by heart, I read in the word. A tumult to his own grace to live a second head; ere beauty

moue; whose ioyes I shall not, whilst thou lovest those deep cavern there the tenting swerve of neck and we will all air and the blooms but who look full upon his breast in the rose-briar

is sweet grace and England. Yet, alas, before the loves him shall prick herself on a strange, and others, the coming, my own voice is upon the best, consciousness of guilt—of

guilt—of guilt—of guilt—of guilt, perhaps not a prayer?- Combs: alas, he finds they are but this shack with light and tenor of the round him grew all tendrils green leaves. Swell thee to thee.

To nurse the rest not ceasing to death and smiles at my lost bright and traces, and pray to thine, that is harmless as my

tears I send forth between ye; yet this cool a purple round me, till God’s creatures we devour, dust we leaves, nor casts

his nail, and snatch thee remain with me? With other. And numb his bosom shook with looking from its maiden bed weep and

pray to the stone; nor sigh of his lyre; there is manna pick’d from the moment, that stuck in thee lie! Yet the fear of every

joy. Imagination seen. And never a face so please me: for if you had a fourth time faced to man, to whom

thine aged top, and innocent floods, ripe fruit of works on me, O eyes, ay seeking that bee which it contagious game:

hiding the vice president’s mouth her eyes run liquid broidered all were wild. What act proved all in war paint them with

thy sweet, though that to my greatest grief, away, kindest Alpheus? When blood is nipp’d, and the hand, one chewing a stark

unprinted silence did their fames in Tempe or the cold hill side. And there: each to other what we’re stands; a sovereign

quell is in mourning it seems they in skin of Phoebus’ shrine, and, for all we bury him? Then, my Muse and suffocate

true blessings in a case of their axle! A dewy luxury; and high fantastic bridge athwart the pathos with

the air stretched wight, as they in the breeze some hours will she belief: anon it leads through caves, and what care? What care? Strange beside,

all made of two, and pampered swells with this dew-dropping melancholy, so brave, unable to give what the wind.

From every mystery. Me, nor light, the hoofs of that when it nurse Amalthea skimm’d for a shelter for thy deeds there

day be done, in gloss of morning moves, to the feet. Who in his heart with anguish thee shall faint charm the fire in the way.

#poetry #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Markov chains #Markov chain length: 7 #124 texts #ballad sequence

0 notes

critrolesideblog · 3 years

Text

Some snippets from the Nein’s week at the Blooming Grove.

-----

There is a shadow of something between them. Something in the way their shoulders brush as they stand next to each other, in the way the Scourger's broad shoulders relax ever-so-slightly when Caleb is near, in the intensity with which he watches Caleb's face as he speaks, in the way Caleb's eyes travel slow, lingering paths up the Scourger's muscular arms when he thinks no one is watching.

Caleb has his back to Essek, standing over a desk, perusing a book the Scourger has lent him. The Scourger is next to him, arms crossed over his chest, leaning back against the desk with an air of ease and familiarity, as if he did not try to kill them all mere days ago. He is facing Essek, but not looking at him.

Until he is.

Brown eyes catch lilac ones in their stare, and a wolfish grin curls its way around the handsome features. He says something to Caleb in Zemnian, without breaking Essek's eye contact. It sounds like a question, to which Caleb replies casually.

It is foolish, Essek knows, to maintain eye contact like this. Any number of spells may be wrought thus, but he cannot find it in himself to look away.

The Scourger asks another question, his voice dropping an octave. He forfeits the staring contest to trace Caleb's form with his eyes, down then up, and there is still a wolfish edge to his playful grin as leans in past the boundary of Caleb's shoulder.

Without looking up from his book, Caleb places a hand on the near side of the Scourger's face and slowly but firmly extends his arm out. The Scourger, chuckling, allows himself to be pushed over far enough that he has to take a step away from Caleb to maintain his balance.

His eyes alight on Essek again. He says something to Caleb with a sigh, and then lopes out of the library, his eyes on Essek's all the while. Just before he floats down out of sight, he gives Essek a wink.

Once all is still, Caleb looks up, finally, toward the exit. His shoulder dips slightly as he turns to look at Essek, but Essek's eyes are already back on his own book.

------

"Anyway, it's a really good book, Essek. I think you'll like it."

"I am sure it is, but romance novels have never been my, ah, cup of tea."

Jester draws the small brush dipped in black laquer carefully across the final nail of Essek's right hand. "It's not just a romance novel, Essek. It's literature. You're missing out." She says the last part in a singsong voice as she leans back to survey her handiwork. "Are you sure you don't want me to put some little designs on them. I could make them very tasteful, you know, like some little stars or your favorite rune or something."

They are seated in front of the fireplace in Jester's room atop a make-shift bed of soft pillows and blankets. Fey cats sit among the pillows alongside them, some with tails holding aloft trays of milk, cookies, pastries, tea, and fruit, others merely there for their evening nap.

"I will likely be returning to Vurmas outpost soon, Jester. I do not want anything that will draw too much attention from the soldiers."

"Oh, alright," she says. Her tail sways slowly behind her like a disappointed shake of the head. "You do pull off the monochromatic look really well. Next time, through, we should try something different, just for fun, you know?" She gives him a bright, fanged grin.

"Yes, next time."

Essek thought, after a century of den politics, he could hide his heart from anyone (evidence shows even himself), but hiding it from Jester Lavorre is another matter entirely. She narrows her eyes at him suspiciously.

"There is going to be a next time, Essek. You're so smart -- I'm sure you can figure out a solution for anything. So there is going to be a next time, alright, Essek? Promise me."

"Jester--"

"Promise!" She holds her pinkie finger out toward him imperiously. The logical part of Essek's mind whirs with explanations, caveats, problems, but Jester is looking at him with such determination, such faith.

Slowly, carefully, he loops his pinkie around hers.

"I promise."

-----

Essek observes, a little wryly, that it promises to be another beautiful sunlit day, when a small but bright flash of light catches his eye painfully as he walks through the Grove after breakfast. He winces reflexively, and when he looks back, the glimmer is gone. Curious. He pauses, waiting, eyes carefully scanning the mist-clung leaves and gilded treetops. There is a distant rustling, a whisper of breeze, and -- there it is again! A flash and gone, but he sees the direction of its source this time.

Diverting from his usual path, he strikes off in search of it. He drifts into one of the wilder reaches of the grove, skirting mounds and headstones, overgrown with flowers of every color, shimmering with dew. Finally, the tall brush ahead of him clears and he finds...Fjord?

Fjord is lying on the damp undergrowth, the dawning sunlight glinting off the metal buckles of his armor. His limbs are thrown aside at funny angles as though he had fallen, but Essek's keen ears tell him his breathing is normal. From what Essek can tell, he is awake and uninjured.

"Fjord?"

"Mm?" One yellow eye opens to survey him coyly.

"What are you doing?"

"I have been ... grievously injured," Fjord rasps with great melodrama, his left hand moving slightly to bring Essek's attention to a wooden dowell a few inches from his knee.

The puzzle pieces fall into place.

"Ah." Essek murmurs, "This is a trap." A toothy grin spreads across the half-orc's handsome features, but Essek is already scanning his surroundings, ears straining, for any sign to give away his hunter. He does not want to make it too easy for him.

There is a rustle of leaves to his left.

He turns toward it, casting Shield with a little more flourish than is strictly necessary, and -- twang--FWUMP! He hisses as a dowell hits him hard in the back of his right shoulder. An orange cat with familiar blue eyes pops its head out of the flowers in front of him. Catleb tilts his head playfully as victorious giggles erupt from the tree branches behind Essek.

Essek looks down at his shoulder as though surveying the damage. "I am not sure a shoulder wound is instantly mortal."

"The arrows are poisoned," Fjord supplies casually.

"Ah, of course."

"And if you don't die with enough gravitas, you'll be made to do it again."

Essek suppresses a sigh and a smirk. He supposes he cannot have enough practice faking his death.

-----

"Alright, man, that's enough for right now," Beau says as she closes her notebook. "I think we both need some food and some fresh air." She rises from her seat, stretches, and claps Caleb on the shoulder as she walks by. "Let's go, dude. Don't make me come back in here for you, 'cause you know I will." And with that, she walks past the shadow, out of the Clays' kitchen, into the sunshine.

Caleb rubs his hands over his face and takes a deep breath. Eins, zwei, drei...

Constance Clay is seated to his left. She is a calm, abiding presence, listening without judgment, a witness, an anchor. Caleb gives her a nod, and she nods back, as has become their habit in ending these sessions. Finally, he rises and walks past the other witness in the room.

"Caleb," the shadow calls softly as he reaches the door.

Caleb turns back.

There is a moment of silence as the apology dies in Wulf's teeth, and Caleb is not sure if expecting no different makes it hurt more or less.

"I know," he replies. Wulf does not flinch. He never has. He never will. "I know."

He walks out into the sunshine.

----

Caleb wakes up on a warm, sunlit patch of grass. He stares at the cloudless, blue sky for a moment before his attention is drawn by the skritch-a-scratch-scratch of pencil on paper to his left.

Jester is sitting beneath a peach tree, her sketchbook propped up against her knees. When her candy-pink eyes look up to peer at him over the pages, she grins and beckons him with a single, curling finger.

Slowly, after a nice, big stretch, he ambles up and over to her and crouches down at her side. She holds her book out at arms-length, so they can both survey her work: an orange cat fast asleep on its back in the sunshine. It's curled around on itself like a doughnut, its fluffy tummy exposed, a look pure feline bliss on its face.

"I think I got your good side."

-----

"A lee-tle more to the left," Jester says, motioning for Essek to stand closer-still to Caleb. He cannot get much closer without falling into Caleb's lap (he'll thank her later). He stares at her for a long moment, floats in just a nudge, and then shares A Look with Caleb. She considers this a small match-making success.

Gardening, truth be told, is not Jester's strong suit, so she has been spending her week in the Grove doing something much more important: drawing, drawing, and drawing some more. She draws until her hand cramps, at which point she pauses to eat a pastry or two and goes back to drawing again: Caleb and Essek conversing in the shade of an apple tree; Veth chasing Luc through the flowers; Yasha returning a baby bird to its nest; Fjord and Beau sparring amidst a shower of jacaranda petals; Constance and Cornelius Clay, each with an arm around Caduceus' shoulders, resting their heads against his in turns as they drink tea; Kingsley flirting incorrigibly with Eadwulf; Eadwulf and Astrid tending, with great care and concentration, to a plant that was half struck by the Blight; Sprinkle napping among the flowers; and a hundred other little moments, until her trusty sketchbook is almost entirely out of paper. And she knows exactly how she wants to use the final piece.

Fjord, Veth, and Caleb are seated in the garden on a motley assortment of chairs from the Clays' home, with Caduceus, Beau, Yasha, Molly, and Essek standing behind.

"You know, Blueberry, there is going to be a problem with this portrait." Caleb says, and Jester frowns, considering the composition and the lighting.

"What do you mean?"

"You're not in it.” Ah, yes, that tender grin is the exact one Jester wants to capture.

"Of course she is!" Declares Veth, tilting her head left then right to regard the rest of the Nein. "Look at all these smiles!"

#ficlets #essek thelyss #caleb widogast #jester lavorre #with guest appearances by:#eadwulf grieve #Fjord #Beau #and the entire #Mighty Nein #my writing tag

63 notes · View notes

away-from-anthills · 3 years

Text

chapter eleven-

It became apparent to Antstar near immediately that Whitetooth and Marblepaw weren’t the only ones in the medicine den.

Next to Whitetooth lay Stripedwing. The gray molly seemed well, but even under the cloak of sleep her face looked troubled. Next to her were four small bundles of fur, one of which Marblepaw was tending to.

“What’s going on?” asked Antstar, his breath so low that he wondered if he was just thinking particularly loud.

“I believe I have told you in the past about the matter concerning Stripedwing’s family tree,” began Whitetooth. “For as far back as I or my late mentor can remember, the litters containing such ancestry are quite weak, and have difficulty surviving illness. You may recall that Rainleap and Stripedwing were born in a litter of four, yet only they survived their kithood.”

Antstar nodded, but worry began to dig under his skin like a short-tempered hare. These were Russetfoot’s children!

“They’ve all caught kitten-cough. It appears the other three in the litter- Runningkit, Rustkit, and Wheatkit- are safe and healthy, and Shadeflower is caring for them. But these four… these four, I worry about.”

Suddenly, Whitetooth and Marblepaw at once pricked their ears and pointed their long snouts towards the entrance, where a figure was standing. She was a calico tabby; half of her fur was an off-white color while her back and face were covered in splotches that were mottled orange and liver. She was a naturally rather demure thing, like a particularly thin workhorse, and her pale green eyes were cradled by thick, dark eyebags that had been tinged reddish from discharge.

It was Houndnose. One of the permanent queens.

“Are they alright?” she asked in a hoarse whisper, awkwardly walking forth to inspect. Whitetooth leaned toward her, causing her to back up into herself and arch over. “I cannot say they are. I and my apprentice are giving them all the care we can, but we do not know what will happen to them.”

Whitetooth was usually fairly tall, definitely within the upper half of WindClan’s heights. But their head only met Houndnose’s lower neck. She shot one last long glance at the kittens; her glance slowly lingered and met Antstar’s before she trotted away.

“Poor, feeble thing,” Whitetooth said, solemnly shaking their head. “All she wants in the world is to take care of kits and to be a mother. But every litter she’s had…”

Antstar didn’t need Whitetooth to finish the sentence. Houndnose’s first litter had been born two springs ago. But Dustkit was a stillbirth, and Privetkit and Newtkit slowly, agonizingly succumbed to illness. Her second litter the next year was healthier, but didn’t fare better in the long run, as a fox wound up getting them.

Antstar remembered how Shalestar had asked Houndnose if she truly wanted to continue being a queen after all that. But Houndnose was insistent: Queen life was worth all the heartbreak, all the pain; and her third litter would make it, whenever it would be.

“It must be horrible,” Whitetooth said softly, a true sympathy shining in their teal-green eyes. “Having to watch what happened to your own all over again- and not be able to do a single thing about it.”

They turned to inspect Stripedwing and her kits, and upon assuring themself that the molly and her kits were all in a deep slumber, they turned, in that sort of blank way they were so masterful at, to Antstar.

“I have heard about Stoatslink’s… suspicions, yes.”

“Well.” Antstar stepped back, a touch of incredulousness as he shifted his weight from one side to another. “What in StarClan do you suppose we do?”

Whitetooth squinted slightly before wheeling around to sort a stack of herbs near the back of the main chamber. “You are my leader, Antstar. I follow your command, not the other way around.”

Antstar opened his mouth to protest, but Whitetooth turned, their eye lidded with seriousness. “I do not kill my Clanmates, sir. I am simply the agent by which they join StarClan. If you truly think I’m going to kill Stoatslink on my own volition, you are sorely mistaken.”

Kill? Antstar had said nothing about killing. But in a strange sort of way, his mind was already headed there. And then he blurted out: “I don’t want to be the one to do it!”

“Quiet!” Whitetooth hissed, snapping at their leader. For a second, Antstar glimpsed their long white canines that had gifted them their name, and he was there in Sunningrocks all over again, when that flame-pointed ThunderClan tom had threatened him. Whitetooth’s mouth was very small and slight, and looked nearly invisible when it was shut. But inside- when they opened their mouth… it was nearly all teeth. Teeth that had never been dulled by the wear and tear of warriorship. Teeth that were long but with points so small that if they were to bite into something, nobody would notice but the victim, like hypodermic needles.

Antstar’s eyes darted over to the corner of the medicine den, where Marblepaw was curled up, eyes huge and glimmering with the shine of Whitetooth’s canines.

“You are going to wake her-“ -they gestured to Stripedwing, still asleep- “-if you continue, and the Clan will not understand us. And I know from hearing things that Clan cats have no trouble kicking out leaders if they decide they are no longer worthy. Why, it could be happening right now…”

“Right now?” said Antstar. “What do you mean?” “Not here in WindClan.” They tipped their head back cryptically. “I hear of things.”

“But what do we do?” asked Antstar. “What if- StarClan damn you for making me think of it, but- what if we were to kill him?” “Outside,” said Whitetooth, their tail still flicking towards the sleeping mother and her kits. “Now. Marblepaw-“ -they turned to address their apprentice, who was still hunched over from fear- “you watch Stripedwing and her kits.”

They were on the rim above camp now, the moon across the sky staring straight upon them.

“Well, now. What do we do?”

“Well, what does Stoatslink thinks he knows?”

Antstar tried to flicker back memories of all they had learned about the white tom. He was an analytical sort, yes. But he was stubborn, and seemed to fashion himself a genius. Bull-headed. An intelligent bull? Perhaps. But still one that would charge if he saw a red cape.

“He thinks a non-Clan cat killed Sparkthistle and threw her body in the gorge as cover.”

“Good, good.” Whitetooth’s voice slowly blended into a sort of hypnotic charm as it flowed through the air. “That’s exactly what we need. Here’s what I would propose.”

They stood back and tipped their head up and ears back, as if they were disposing of rotting crowfood, and spoke.

“We can make an example of Stoatslink. He is a family-oriented fellow, but has few friends because of his flaws. If he died-“

“What are you getting at? You think we can openly kill him to ‘make an example’? Are you mad?” Whitetooth looked offended, their nose slightly wrinkling with indignance. “Not openly, you shrew-headed fellow! And, personally, I was never saner than I am now. Listen. You know what happens, when Tatteredstar makes a faulty decision?”

Antstar nodded. Recently, there had been Rosefire. But he hadn’t been the only incident. He remembered that at his first Gathering as a warrior, she had announced that an ill-advised attack on a group of kittypets had killed her deputy. There was a sort of shock at it- he had quite liked seeing the fellow in question at Gatherings when he was an apprentice. And even before that, he remembered hearing from WindClan warriors returning from a Gathering- did you hear Tatteredstar didn’t let SkyClan get the herbs they needed, due to their prey dispute? And a bunch of SkyClan cats died because of it? I have no idea why ThunderClan adores her so much…

“Now. What else would happen shortly after?”

Antstar’s mind floundered at first, but as soon as he considered Tatteredstar’s other habits his mind latched onto something. “…They would attack RiverClan, and get Sunningrocks back.”

“Bravo.” Whitetooth drew back slowly, like he was leading Antstar with a carrot on a string. “A stroke of genius, on her part. In styling a common enemy for all her Clan to be directed towards, at once it removes the eyes from her and it unites the Clan together against this new obstacle. So even if the Clan is divided at her decision- they are swiftly united again by this distraction.” “So what you’re saying is-“

“I know the cats who live just beyond our territory. I would not say they are black of heart, but they are desperate. For food, for shelter… they shall do anything to get their claws on that sort of miscellany. I can arrange with them a deal- some of my medicinal herbs for them to kill Stoatslink, and then we shall throw him into the gorge. Solidify the belief he had in a killer outside the Clans- and then send a patrol to deal with the rogues that shall still be at the border.”

They turned away back into the medicine den, hearing Dewkit weakly cry as she began to stir.

“Think upon my words, Antstar, and consider it for now. If need be- I would consider it a necessary sacrifice to keep our Clan together for the oncoming of no-leaf.”

The last days of late summer slipped by, until autumn arrived in a hazy orange mist one day about a week or two later.

WindClan’s territory had always been at her prettiest in the mist- most of all when the sun still was able to shine through and cradle it with light. The sky above was mostly clear, but pale from its dawn youth. The trees, just slightly tinged with dappled shades of ginger, were practically painted gold by the sun’s light. The last morning stars slowly winked away just beyond the horizon, and the ground was so soaked with dew that WindClan cats nearly appeared to be RiverClan.

Antstar, however, had no time to admire newborn leaf-fall. He and Whitetooth, this morning, were on a mission at dawn. He had told Russetfoot he was helping Whitetooth find herbs, as it was important to do before the plants died out.

Russetfoot had accepted, numbly, his forest-green eyes staring mournfully at a small, freshly buried patch of earth that lay just beyond camp, where the last wildflowers of the season had begun to blossom. But Russetfoot had sighed and gone on with it, announcing names for the dawn patrol- mourning, in WindClan, was rarely ever a public affair.

Whitetooth always had a strange way of moving through the grass. It was almost like a swan: their top half remained still, except for the vague movements of the haunches and the flick of the tail; their legs, however, kicked away wildly beneath them. It was at once graceful and off-putting, as Whitetooth tended to be.

They went along, from the dewy grass to the slick, cold asphalt of the Thunderpath just beyond Mothermouth. They were traveling up it, parallel to the road. Antstar felt nervousness nip at his paws- ever since Rainleap’s death, which in truth had been only a season or so ago although to Antstar it had felt like eons, he had always had second thoughts about crossing roads.

And then Whitetooth stopped. They looked one way, then another, and then slunk across the road, Antstar in tow.

They stopped at a small, craggy cave, which resembled a much smaller version of the Moonstone’s cave- but with no tunnel, and no mystic monolith either. Inside, although it was dark, Antstar could see the silhouettes of a small group of rogues. They were all emaciated, and he tried to keep his distance- he could smell the fleas from here, and it appeared at least one of them had mange.

He heard a snarl and two cats caught his attention. One was a large ginger-and-white molly with patchy fur and scars webbing her shoulders, the other a much smaller, underfed little brown tom with a white underbelly.

“So you haven’t found any prey this morning?” asked the ginger-and-white molly, her voice thick with an accent that Antstar couldn’t place.

The smaller tom shook his head. He was visibly shaking, and his ribs were defined enough that Antstar could count nearly all of them.

“You know, Whimbrel, that this is the eighth straight morning-“ “I don’t want to go out to where the Clans are!” he squeaked, his voice hoarse.

“The Clans?” She scoffed. “You’re scared of the Clans?”

Whimbrel nodded. “I didn’t-“

At once the large patched molly leapt onto Whimbrel. He tried to flee, but there was little time before she was on top of him. She beat him around, as a kit would a moss-ball, and then thrust a thick yellow claw right into his eye. Whimbrel let out a wicked screech of pain.

“That’ll teach you,” she said, giving a crooked smile. Her teeth were cracked, and a few were missing altogether. “You’ve got more to worry about than the Clans, rag-pelt.”

Antstar winced. With no medicine, that eye was going to get infected- and it was already out of the question that Whimbrel would ever see in it again.

And then- speak of herbs- Whitetooth stepped forth, their chest puffed with confidence. “Sisters, brothers! May I see the leader of this fine group? I have a proposition I am willing to make.”

Antstar had no idea how much of Whitetooth’s words were laced with sarcasm, if any of them were. Yet some of the rogues seemed to know Whitetooth already, and acknowledged their presence with a nod. Antstar knew that medics were often entangled with connections to cats outside the Clans, and with each other; he didn’t want to press the matter further than that.

A large, muscly black cat came up to them. He had a sort of youthful swagger about him which was only further punctuated by mischievous yellow eyes and a white spot just above his left lip.

‘Name’s Captain.”

Captain? Fancy name, for a rogue, Antstar thought. He wouldn’t be surprised if this cat had once been a kittypet. Whitetooth nodded and bowed slightly in greeting.

“I and my companion here are willing to arrange a deal with you, provided you are capable of upholding our end of the bargain.”

The ginger-and-white molly from before trod up beside Captain, her hazel eyes clouded with suspicion. “They smell like Clan.”

“I am aware,” Captain whispered in her ear. “Hold on a moment.” He turned back to Antstar and Whitetooth, his gaze smooth. “What is it?” “I will give you enough herbs to last two moons, as well as a position on the edge of our land,” Whitetooth began. Antstar nodded along, not wanting to interfere- or get too close to the rogues, as he watched a yellow tabby tom pry a fat tick from his shoulder. “…So long as you get rid of this rogue that has been bothering us.”

“And you’re sure you’ll hold up this bargain?” asked Captain, leaning forward with interest.

“Certain.” Whitetooth turned to Antstar. “Are you sure you want me to continue?”

For a moment, Antstar’s mind faltered. He thought of Goldenpaw and Milkpaw, who loved their father dearly. Their final apprentice assessments were to be held that quarter-moon. If he continued now… they’d have no parents at their warrior ceremony.

But it had to be done.

By God, it had to be done.

He nodded.

As Whitetooth and Captain got into the specifics- he’s a white tom, rather muscular, face like a bull terrier, yellow eyes- Antstar felt his head swirl with excuses. No, he didn’t- wasn’t going to, rather- kill Stoatslink. It wasn’t his fault. These rogues were going to kill someone anyway, right? And someone had to die to unite the Clan. He hadn’t killed Stoatslink; he didn’t kill Sparkthistle. He spoke no lies- he was solely omitting what he had to in order to keep his Clan safe. And in the long run, turning WindClan on these rogues was the right thing to do, to train them, to compel them to fight and band them together.

His mind stopped. He was at no fault, he decided. This was going to happen any other way.

“We’ll get the job done,” assured Captain, giving Whitetooth a gaze that was almost playfully roguish. Antstar wasn’t entirely sure he trusted him. “Meeting, everyone! Meeting!”

The rogues in the den gathered around the black-furred tom, their gazes wary.

“We have a deal with these two generous Clan fellows. I am aware most Clan cats are heartless bastards,” he jested, “but these two have granted us both part of their territory and medicinal herbs.”

“That’ll be great for Whimbrel’s injury here!” half-heartedly said the patched ginger and white molly. Beside her, Whimbrel was trying to wipe the blood from his face, but the more his paw rubbed the uglier the wound became. He tried harder and harder to stop the bleeding, to soothe himself; but in the end he had made a mess of it, giving up entirely as the blood seeped through his fur.

“It will be,” said Captain, flinching with disgust at the rogue’s injury. “However, we must uphold our half of the bargain. They have asked we… deal with… a white rogue who lives on their territory, who goes by the name Stoat.”

“Oh, that bastard!” said an old, thin black molly with long fangs. “Heard of him! Could have sworn he was a Clan cat, though…”

“We follow what they say, Linsky, and we don’t ask questions.” He turned back to the other rogues. “Tonight, we’ll get rid of him, so we don’t worry about having to do it later. If we all gang up on him, we’ll outnumber him. We’ll set up two groups. Towser here-“ -he indicated the patched ginger and white molly- “-will lead the first group, I’ll lead the second- as we are the best fighters after all, especially in my case.”

A large silvery tabby molly in the group rolled her eyes.

“One group will chase, the other will ambush. He’ll stand no chance. Towser, you’ll have Peg and Scamp with you; you’ll chase him down. I’ll lead the ambush group, which will be myself of course, but also Linsky, Garlic, and Whimbrel. I’ll kill the cat, of course, as I have special experience and tact-“

“You don’t,” growled the silvery tabby.

“Peg, you must have forgotten my run in with the ShadowClan patrol a few moons ago. You see, there were five of them, and one-“

“Let us leave,” said Whitetooth. “They’ll take most of it from here. And I have a queen and kits I must care for, especially after poor Mousekit’s death the other day.”

The day seemed to take forever.

Antstar felt like he was going to vomit every time he caught sight of Goldenpaw and Milkpaw. Even though he had mostly trained himself now into accepting that Stoatslink’s sealed fate was fixed, and that he had no true hand in it, his gut disagreed with his brain.

What would be, would be.

He took solace in Whitetooth’s confidence, at least- if that’s what you could call it. Nothing about the pale-furred medic seemed to indicate any sense of wrongness, or even that something different was about to occur that night. Hell, ever since even before Sparkthistle had died, they had looked the same way; acted the same way.

Medics were close to StarClan- and if Whitetooth hadn’t been smote down by StarClan themselves the last time they had visited the Moonstone and trod upon StarClan’s own divine territory, Antstar had to be fine.

Goldenpaw and Milkpaw, meanwhile, seemed to be having a fairly average day. The wound Goldenpaw had received in the massive Sunningrocks battle had nearly healed, although it left a scar that twisted and snaked around her flank and leg like a tangled vine. It had been her first hunting patrol since, as Whitetooth had only released her from their care the other night. She was the only moor runner apprentice, now. Twigpaw had moved on to his tunneler training after he had gotten the basics of hunting and fighting, and Shadeflower’s litter had graduated. Antstar wondered if the small catch she brought- only a small, scrawny whinchat- had to do with the lack of recent training since the injury, or the fact she had no competition she could brag about her catch to.

Coalclaw had been on the hunting patrol also, his face seemingly-permanently twisted into what Antstar could only describe to himself as something between numbness and far-off horror. Rockscratch, who was the one who had dragged the dark gray tabby along, had hoped that a hunting patrol would lift Coalclaw’s spirit and “get him back into a fightin’ mood”, but Coalclaw seemed almost too dazed to catch prey, even missing out on a rather clumsy red grouse that his sister Spiderfoot caught without even having to think about it. At one moment, Coalclaw was able to catch a young hare that had been chased around to him by the other members in the patrol; but as soon as he was told to clamp down on its neck and kill it, he started to cry in an ugly, desperate way, and yet again Spiderfoot had to finish the job for him. It’s only a hare, his patrol members told him, it’s only a hare, they are living but they are our food and they live through us, but he could not stop crying and staring into the crimson of its blood, and eventually Webwhisker had had to bring Coalclaw early, where he resumed his usual position sitting at the edge of camp towards sunset; still as a stone but haunted by something within.

“Something’s wrong with him,” Rockscratch said, with an air of sympathy but also a slight twinge of annoyance, like he was inspecting a tear in a well-loved coat of his. “We have to figure out how to fix it. I quite liked how he used to be.”

Milkpaw, meanwhile, was quite successful as a tunneler. While traditionally, a tunneler’s job was dependent on hearing, a trait Milkpaw lacked, her other senses brought a new understanding to the job. She could not hear, but her eyesight was excellent even in the thick, clammy darkness of the tunnels, and she had a sense of motion in the ground that only the finest tunnelers could really tap into. It was understood that tunnelers had longer training periods than their above-ground counterparts, but tunnelers generally got their warrior names around the time they had learned all of the basics and not when their training had truly finished. A tunneler’s leaning never ends,they reasoned when asked about why, as it was rather silly to everyone else.

That’s what terrified Antstar the most. The warrior ceremony. If Stoatslink really was to die, those two would have neither of their parents at their warrior ceremony. He supposed he knew how it felt to not have any parents to begin with… but to have them, and lose them, was a cruelty Antstar felt like he’d never really comprehend, just as he never had anything to say to Russetfoot’s wild grief about his children slowly beginning to slip away.

He didn’t want to cause that. Goldenpaw and Milkpaw had done nothing wrong. The idea of naming his victim’s children made him sick.

But he reminded himself. It wasn’t his fault, it wasn’t him; it could never be him. The rogues by the Moonstone were going to be a problem. Perhaps some wandering patrol would run into them; even worse, perhaps they would see the medicine cats entering Mothermouth as a threat. They were going to kill some cat eventually. And he didn’t make the deal, nor did he tip them off- that had been Whitetooth. All he had been was there, due to absolutely nothing besides Fate and her wicked talons.

And he couldn’t simply expose Whitetooth, no. Whitetooth was the sole trained medic in WindClan; it would be a few moons before Marblepaw could even think about what her medic name might be. A Clan without a medic would be a death sentence, especially in the coming no-leaf season. And Whitetooth might turn on Antstar, which really wouldn’t be good for anyone.

Besides- as much as he felt wrong for admitting it, as much as he knew Whitetooth was a killer- he only truly felt calm, or perhaps the closest thing he knew to calm, by the white-and-brown cat’s side. There was something about their rich, dark voice; their eyes with pupils nearly always slit like a pocketknife had cut through the teal surface; their silent steps, their confidence. It wasn’t a romantic attraction, no. But it was like they were two souls, bound together by the limbs and thrown over the river; each pushing the other towards a direction only Hell and Heaven knew of.

The day was slow, but the night came quick.

“Stoatslink,” said Antstar as he approached the bullish white tom- he tried to sound confident- “I need to tell you about something. About what you said, regarding… you know.”

Stoatslink said no words, but nodded. At once he understood.

Thought he understood, rather.

“There’s a pack of rogues on the border,” Antstar began, his voice weary and hesitant like the first frost of a season. “I don’t know how many there are. But I am nearly certain they are the ones that may have killed Sparkthistle. You were right, Stoatslink.”

There was a moment of idle hesitation, and Antstar could see Stoatslink’s expression flicker between horror at the suggested reality and a strange, smug sort of pride.

“I’ll kill them,” the white tom grumbled. “I’m run them straight through. Nobody messes with WindClan. By the time I’ll be done with them, you won’t be able to tell they were ever feline.”

Antstar hoped to God and back that Stoatslink’s death would be quick, and that Captain’s group knew what they were doing. He knew he himself couldn’t take the white tom on in a fight- especially not with this attitude.

“That is why I want you, and you alone, to watch over the camp tonight. I hardly expect they’ll attack us. But just in case- I want you to sound the alarm.”

“Only me?” Stoatslink scoffed. His breath smelled like dried hare meat. “But what if they do attack?”

“Then the Clan will know about it,” continued Antstar. “And if the Clan knows about it, they’ll panic.”

“Rightfully so! They-“

“Do you want your daughters to live in fear or not!?!” Antstar yelled in a whisper. He realized he had never felt his voice go harsh like that before- at least, not since he had been a moody kit in the nursery.

But it was effective. Stoatslink backed down. His mouth opened up, as if another word had to escape his snout- and then, sensing he had no argument to speak of, it clicked shut like a music box with no coil left.

“I’ll do what I can, Antstar. And trust me- if they approach, the rogues won’t stand a chance.”

Antstar watched as the white tom sauntered away. He tended to sway about when he walked, like a basset hound; but from the way his shoulder blades perked up Antstar could see the purpose burning in his brain. Then, another white figure approached- Whitetooth, as smooth as ever. Antstar watched as the white cat took Stoatslink aside- or, really, rather just brushed him near, effortlessly; like a breeze guiding leaves. They whispered something in Stoatslink’s ear and threw a few glances.

This was all part of the plan. Whitetooth would convince the ever-bullish Stoatslink that Antstar was being too nice, that Antstar was underestimating him, and rile him up into a fury against these rogues. That way, Stoatslink would charge when he saw them, not caring to alert the Clan in a false belief he could manage on his own- and, therefore, charge into his own death.

It was a simple plan.

It was an awful thing to know.

It had to be done. For WindClan.

Perhaps Whitetooth sensed Antstar’s doubt. For as soon as Stoatslink set off, his vision cloaked in red, they slunk up to their leader and sat next to them, only for a moment whispering something into Antstar’s flattened ear:

“Rest assured, Antstar, this is needed. All of it is. You are doing what you can to keep your clan safe. Elsewise… evil would prosper in your failure.”

#warrior cats #warrior cats ocs #story #FINALLy

22 notes · View notes

deithe · 4 years

Text

the bones (2,847 words) (1/1)

(an introspective on jason grace. kind of?)

read here on ao3 or read below the cut!

jason falls in love with the human equivalent of a forest fire

(his mother fell in love with the sky itself)

jason grace grew up being told that his destiny was very, very simple.

his first and most important mission, handed down to him from lady juno and mother lupa, was that jason was destined to save rome. that his destiny lay with new rome and camp jupiter, a new romulus to lead the pack to greatness. he would spill so much blood in new rome’s name that the little tiber would overflow and the gods would crown him with a golden laurel made from monster ichor.

he would be everything everyone else needed.

a spear for the senate, a shield for new rome, a standard to replace the one that had been lost, a sword for the gods to wield, and another pack member for lupa. he would be the perfect soldier, a demigod fashioned by two god-mothers for the simple act of being a weapon.

his second duty was that jason was to be nothing like his father.

his father, evil, unpredictable, selfish and cruel, was to be jason’s antithesis. lady juno stressed this, as did the senate, as did his praetors (though praetor saville jason eventually killed in battle, so jason doesn’t take her words to heart anymore). jason was never, ever to be like his father. all sons of jupiter before him were either driven insane or were killed, and jason’s great destiny could not afford for him to do either of those things.

‘hubris’ lady juno once told him, while going through his latin lessons in the damp cold of the den (or wolf house, as she called it), ‘is the thing that kills sons of jupiter’.

so jason was to never be prideful, but at the same time, never to believe he was inferior. he was to be subservient but never meek, he was to be a capable fighter but never violent. he was to be kind but not a pushover. open but not flirtatious.

he was to be perfect. he could not afford anything else.

then he, in the span of a few months, murdered his prateor after finding out she was a traitor, watched his friend be assaulted by a family legacy of prophetic visions which turned him into a paranoid asshole, watched his other friend assume a leadership role, one which he tried to refuse, and fought an army, killed a titan and toppled kronos’ black throne.

he also became praetor and then was promptly kidnapped by lady juno, leaving said other friend with all the responsibility.

then any and all plans the gods had for him were ruined by a daughter of aphrodite with eyes like the earth and a son of hephaestus with a smile like war.

how could jason be the perfect soldier when his loyalties no longer lay with new rome? he loved his home, he loved his siblings-in-arms, he loved the legion-

he loved leo and piper more than the breath in his lungs, than the sky and earth and more than his destiny. he loved them enough to try and find whatever scraps of himself he had. to create something they could love too.

(heracles killed himself after accidentally killing his family. love killed him in the end)

and so, jason failed in his first mission. he could no longer put new rome above them, above camp half-blood.

jason doesn’t think becoming his father is an option for him, however. his father is prideful and arrogant and his father's likeness, he will eventually learn, belongs only to his prodigal sister.

and so, jason grace finds his last name, a family he never knew, friends he could die for and an empty cabin that seemed less lonely with leo or piper in it.

then they went on a quest, leo built a ship and they all set sail to stop gaia from rising.

then jason lost leo, then jason lost everything, then jason lost himself and then lost piper-

and, in the middle of winter, leo valdez came crashing down on a metal dragon with eyes like a nuclear explosion and teeth made for tearing meat from bone, or tearing jason’s heart from his chest.

and then jason found himself again in the space between the junction between leo valdez's fourth and fifth ribs.

leo valdez is a lot of things. he’s a son of hephaestus and a complete asshole. he’s the first child of hephaestus to be born with the ability to create and control fire in over 400 years. he’s a 5’4ft guy who wears platformed boots to make himself seem taller. he’s so powerful that he obliterated gaia. he’s a genius. he thinks spraying axe bodyspray on himself is the same as a shower. he overworks himself even when he doesn’t have to. he can fight gods and go toe-to-toe with any big three kid and hold his own. he likes to survive on a diet of mango monster energy and takis. he's obnoxious. he's thoughtful. he makes mean-spirited jokes at other people's expense. he's the best person jason's ever met

he’s-

currently late for their date.

It’s not that jason minds, per se, but leo has a nasty habit of getting so completely lost in his work that he can plan a date for the next day, and jason won’t see him for at least three days. it’s one of the downsides of being the trophy boyfriend of a genius.

jason sighs and rocks back on his heels, eyes darting up to the grey, overcast sky. he can almost hear leo in his head, asking if he could pretty please make it less goddamn cold? and his pout when jason refuses to change the weather for him.

it's not that jason won't. it's just that he can't. it makes aeolus snappy.

sometimes he still does it. manipulates the air currents just enough to warm the air around them and leo smiles, a real one, small and soft. like it wasn't meant to be seen. a secret thing, just for jason.

jason doesn't see leo smile like that often.

it's mid-february in new york and jason is kicking around central park in the grey mid-day light. it's quiet, this part of the park, with barely anyone passing jason as he leans against a tree, wet dew dripping into his unstyled hair. it's cold, but not cold enough for a freeze or snow. just the right amount of cold to turn your hands numb and purple from cold

which. if you've never seen leo 'was raised in texas and has fire powers' valdez in new york snow, jason fully believes you've never lived.

he spends another 30 minutes splitting his time from staring into space and wandering around the meeting spot they've arranged. it's peaceful here. jason can even hear some birds twittering and chirping in the trees above. the cold even stops bothering him. jason likes being alone sometimes.

it reminds him of the lupercal and lupa. long days and nights in the loneliness of the redwood forest. just him and the wolves and the stars.

though now jason has sturdy boots and a wool jacket, so not exactly the same.

he's in the middle of trying to coax a timid sparrow onto the hand, crouched on the balls of his feet when he feels a presence beside him. he goes stiff when he realises and then, like all the tension has been zapped out of him, goes relaxed again.

"that," leo whispers, also crouched beside jason, "is one fat fucking bird"

jason represses a grin, "don't say that. he's probably barely eaten all winter," and leo snorts, moving closer to jason so their shoulders brush. the bird regards leo with some caution but his black, beady eyes seem to acknowledge that jason would keep him safe.

"he looks better fed than me, jace. do you care more about this bird than your own poor boyfriend?" leo says, faux-sadness in his voice, "how cruel, jason grace. how cruel".

jason turns in time to see leo shake his head, black curls wild around his face as they shudder like leaves in the wind. his eyes are dark brown, watching the bird watch leo. a staring contest.

leo says his name like no one else does. like it's a name. like it's good. like it's something familiar and warm. he does not say 'jason' and imagine a great hero or a wolf-boy with no past. he does not say 'grace' like a joke, like grasp for power, like it carries too much weight for his tongue to bare.

he says it like it belongs to jason. he says it like it's important. not too fast, but not too slow.

leo turns his head to find jason staring at him.

"jason" he calls, lips quirking up at the edge, pulling out the 'o' like toffee, "i know i'm pretty irresistible but please, keep your longing stares for the bedroom"

jason shoves up against leo's shoulder, blush bursting across his already red-cold face.

he pushes just slightly too hard and leo goes spilling across the wet grass, yelping in surprise.

"jason!" he yells, looking up at jason half shocked and half in amusement. "what the fuck, dude!"

jason can't help himself.

leo is wearing jason's hoodie, the black one mrs.blofis picked out for jason which leo claimed as his own even before they started dating. his new denim, fur-lined jacket (from the hide of the nemean lion they killed last year) is just slightly too big and he's wearing black jeans. he looks like the college freshman he is. he looks mortal.

he looks human. he has leaves in his hair and his cheeks are flushed from the cold, teeth showing through the toothy smile he's giving and-

it's uncanny, sometimes, how well they can pass for normal. you almost can't tell leo's died and come back to life. you almost can't tell he's more powerful than any living mortal.

almost.

jason falls on top of leo in the wet grass, which causes leo to yelp, again, and knee jason in the stomach.

jason groans "dude, what the hades was that for?" and he rolls of leo, onto the wet grass beside him, arms protectively covering his bruised stomach.

"you fell directly on top of me, you big lug," and leo sits up, picking a leaf out of his curls absentmindedly, "if you haven't noticed, you're like a bean-pole with muscle mass. that shit hurts!"

jason pouts up at leo, who manages to look both unimpressed and fond. he rolls his eyes and offers his hand to jason, who accepts and leo hauls him into a sitting position in front of him

"hi, leo" jason says finally, "you're late"

"i'm not late, loser, you're just a nerd and get places earlier than normal people. its super weird," leo tells him, matter-of-factly, scooting closer to him as they sit on the ground. "you should really get it checked. might be terminal nerdiness. the glasses are just the first sign"

jason raises an eyebrow, curviving over said glasses. "i didn't know it could be terminal. oh well, guess i'll just wither away and die from being punctual. what an injust life i lead. how the sorrows never end"

leo pouts, eyes sparking with enough warmth to keep out the cold for decades to come, "don't be so down about it, I hear being a nerd has perks,"

jason moves closer, so his knees are half-pulled up to his chest and he's balancing his weight on his hand. leo fits perfectly in the bracket of his arms.

"oh? do tell?" he asks, and leo is close enough that jason can see the faint freckles on his cheeks. they're fading from how far away leo has been from the sun, but jason loves them anyways.

"yup," leo says, popping the p and smiling like the cat who got the cream. "do you know that all nerds get super hot and funny and sexy boyfriends? as compensation for being such nerds, of course"

jason pulls back his head a bit, just as leo laces his arms around his shoulders, "really?" and his voice is soft, but the smile won't disappear from his lips, "wow, didn't know that. guess I'm lucky that you're such a huge nerd or-"

leo kisses him like coming home. and in a way it is.

jason has known many homes. he's known the small apartment with his mother that smelt like spilt wine and smoke and mold. he's known the lupercal and the redwood forests around it. he's known the barracks at camp jupiter and the feeling of purpose in his chest. he's known cabin 1 and cabin 9 and bunker 9 and on the back of festus and on the argo. he's known the feeling of reyna laughing as he tells her wild stories and of the fifth cohort raising him on their shields. he's known lying in leo's private room with piper and leo, listening to low music and feeling safe with just them.

but the one person who jason has felt like home since they met was leo. his high ground through the tsunami. his parachute during a plane crash. the one point of home. like the north-star.

jason smiles into the kiss, his free hand tangling itself in the rough fabric of leo's dark blue denim jacket. it's soft and chaste, more a press of warm lips than anything. it's comforting. it's familiar. it's everything he wants.

leo pulls back a bit, just far enough to speak but still close enough that his breath brushes up against jason's cold face. "hi," he says, brushing his nose against his, "missed you, bro".

jason snorts, "i missed you too, leo, how's MIT treating you?"

"like i'm it's bitch is how it's treating me," leo tells him, slumping slightly into jason, forehead against jason's. "can we not talk about college? i think if we talk about college I might start crying and then our date will be ruined"

jason pulls back a bit to look at leo. he does look more tired than usual, eye-bags darker and lips bitten from nervousness. he frowns, using his free hand to cup his face. "are you okay? we can just go back to your dorm if you're too tired-"

"ugh, no way" leo groans, "fuck that. i just wanna spend time with you, okay? i wanna be mushy and all that gay shit. i want bad food and to kiss you again and again and do more than kissing-"

jason rolls his eyes.

"-and then go back to mrs.blofis apartment and watch really bad movies you like for some reason and then i'll go to sleep beside you and it'll be gay and shit"

"gay and shit?"

"gay and shit, you better believe it grace. but first-"

and leo untangles himself from jason and stands up, brushing the dirt from his knees leaving jason frowning on the floor.

he offers out his hand, brown skin calloused from work, long, thin fingers curled slightly as the palm faced upwards.

"c'mon, super, treat your louis lane to some greasy new york food before he decides batman has better pay"

jason is so, so lucky he got leo valdez. that the fates decides to make sure that his destiny crosses leo's. that he convinced leo valdez to let down his walls, to stay, that jason wouldn't leave him like the others, or hurt him or betray him.

that jason was in it for as long as leo wanted him to be. that jason only wanted leo to say his name, wanted to give it to leo because leo's the only one who's mouth jason trusts with it. that jason wanted to give leo his past. wanted to show him and tell him where he got each scar.

he trusts leo with this. he trusts leo's hands to not burn it all to ash. because he knows that if leo wanted to, he could. he could burn jason alive with a thought. turn him to ash and glass with a flick of his hand.

jason has fallen in love with a nuclear bomb, with a supernova of a boy and jason doesn't care if it kills him, because he has spent so long pretending to be what everyone else needed, that now he was going to be who he wanted to be. even if it got him killed. even if it burned him alive.

jason grace has fallen in love with the human version of a forest fire. he should be afraid of it, of leo. he is not. he never will be.

beryl grace fell in love with the sky itself. wanted all the stars in heaven and didn't care what happened to her. as long as she knew she had the stars attention. as long as she knew the sky loved her back.

as long as he knew the fire loved him back.

he takes his hand.

#my writing #jason grace #fanfic #hoo #toa has no power over me i do as i please #leo valdez #valgrace

65 notes · View notes

its-nebula · 4 years

Text

I Don’t Belong Here

Prince!Kokichi x Fem!Reader

Walking through the meadow in the early morning always calmed you down. Getting a chance to smell the morning dew, witnessing the fawn leap and nibble on the grass, peering at the sky as it painted a glorious picture of oranges and reds. All of it was just so peaceful. With a tiny grin, you made your way over to the tiny pond hidden among all the trees. Grazing your fingers over the water, you watched as the fish swam about without a care in the world.

You gasped as they so abruptly swam away from you, yet you immediately knew what the culprit was. The chimes of the bell from the tower rang loud, and you froze in place. It was officially 7AM, and surely, your fiancé would be looking for you at any moment. Sadly, the beautiful moment would have to come to an end, as it has every morning since you’d moved in to live with Kokichi.

After you slowly rose to your feet, you brushed off your nightgown, then started your stroll back to your domain, the chime of the bell growing louder with every step you took. The birds flew away from the trees, bunnies and rabbits hid in their dens. You chuckled to yourself a little, knowing the purpose of rigging the bell to chime so early in the morning was to intentionally piss people and wildlife off.

As you entered the castle, peeking around to make sure nobody would see you.

“Good morning, Duchess.” The castle’s maid, Kirumi, greeted. You jumped at her words, turning around quickly. “I assume you went for another stroll today?”

“Kirumi, please! I already told you not to call me that...” You trailed off, looking down at the ground.

“My apologies, S/O. However, I do hope you know once you’re married, I’ll be honor-bound to refer to you by that name, as per the request of the Royal Family.”

“Yeah, I know.” Sighing to yourself, you dusted off your nightgown again, then cleared your throat. “Will you be so kind as to read off all the duties for today?”

“Of course.” She pulled a scroll out of a pocket on her skirt, and unfurled it. “Request eating arrangements for the guests, confirm musical arrangement, confirm decorations, rehearse ballroom dancing, and dress fitting, my lady.”

You nodded your head. “Thank you, Kirumi. You may continue with your duties now.” Giving you a nod back, she hurried off to the kitchen.

“Don’t forget to put ‘explain why you don’t love your evil prince anymore’ on that list!” You heard the all-too familiar voice of your betrothed from behind you, and you rolled your eyes playfully. You couldn’t help but smile as he hugged you from behind, giving you a tight squeeze. “Why do you always get up so earlyyyy? Your side of the bed is always so cold in the mornings!”

“You’re the one who had that bell built to chime at the crack of dawn!”

“Niheehee, isn’t it soooo funny? Just think of all those people in town annoyed that they have to wake up early on all their days off! It’s the perfect way to remind them who’s really going to be in charge in a few days!”

You couldn’t help but laugh a little with him. After all, that chaotic energy was something you loved and embraced about him. If there was one thing Kokichi wasn’t, it was a normal prince. Still, you couldn’t get the feeling of nervousness out of your mind. You loved Kokichi with all of your heart, you truly did. You wouldn’t want to be with anybody else, and you knew that he felt the same way about you. Something still just felt off, but you brushed it aside as wedding day jitters, since you had that feeling since you had moved in with Kokichi.

“Their leader’s going to be so big and bad...minus the big part.” You teased him, and he pouted.

“Laugh all you want, but just you wait! If my looks apparently won’t get me respect, I’ll have to rule...by fear.”

“Yeah, you’re going to TP their houses. The good thing is that you’re small enough to pull it off!” You laughed, and he started with his fake tears.

“YOU’RE SO MEAN TO MEEEE! I’M AN EVIL PRINCE! WAAAAAAAA-”

You cut him off with a kiss, giggling softly. He happily kissed back, grinning at you mischievously when he pulled away. “Heehee, I knew you still loved me, S/O! Okay, I have to do all the booooorriinnngg planning stuff now, but I’ll see you later to rehearse! Goodbye~” He gave you one last kiss on the cheek, then went into another room to take care of his princely duties.

The day grew on, and all day you had Kirumi by your side, who helped you complete your tasks. Surprisingly, you’d gotten done earlier than you expected, thanks in no small part to your maid handling things efficiently.

“S/O, I’ve heard that Kokichi isn’t quite ready to dance quite yet. Would you like to do the fitting first?”

“I’d love that, Kirumi.” You smiled at her as you followed her into the bedroom, where your seamstress was starting to set up her materials. You greeted her with a smile, standing on the podium that she had set out. Looking at yourself in the mirror, you couldn’t help but remember a time from which you were basically a random girl off the sidewalk. Your original room was nothing compared to the giant, extravagant bedroom you shared with Kokichi. Your whole house alone could probably fit in the dining room that you ate in now. You came here from almost nothing, and in just a couple days, you would have everything you could ever want.

You slipped into the dress, gawking at just how pretty it looked on you. It was crazy to think that not even long ago, you didn’t even dream of wearing something this expensive or nice looking for a second. It felt strange that it was you were looking at in the mirror, and not somebody else. Now, in just a few short days, tens of thousands of people would see you in this outfit, and you would be officially be royalty.

It wasn’t until the seamstress placed the crown upon your head that all the feelings suddenly started to hit at once. You, S/O, were going to be royalty. Did you even deserve this? Did you deserve to have any of this? Your soon-to-be husband grew up like this, he had experience with all of this, and you had nothing. No matter how many bells and whistles you adorned, nothing will change the fact that you had no idea what you were doing.

“Oh my Queen Bee~ I just got the jewels on my crown affixed, what do you- oh damn.” He gaped at the sight of you in your dress and crown, after walking in without so much as even a knock. How rude, but that wasn’t what you were concerned about. “I sure picked the hottest girl to be my queen, didn’t I?” He started checking you out.

“Kokichi...” Again, you couldn’t help but laugh, even when you were in the worst of moods. He just had that about him, he never failed to make you fall in love all over again. “You don’t really think I’m cut out to be queen, do you? Be honest now...”

“Don’t tell me you’re as dumb as that peasant we saw the other day, S/O! What was his name...? Kaito? Well who cares, because I know you’re better than that!”

“But Kokichi...I don’t feel very royal.”

“Royal, shmoyal. Have you seen yourself in the mirror?!”

“Yes, but-”

“S/O, listen.” He held your hand as you stepped off the podium, so you could get used to moving around in your dress. “You’ll do great. Do you think one of these other boring princesses could rule by my side as well you could?”

“Well...”

“Ugh. Don’t answer that.”

“But, you’re so experienced and all, Kokichi. Look at where I came from. Face it, I don’t fit in.”

“It doesn’t matter where you came from. What matters now is the present and doing your best to be the best queen you can be. Look, could the old you do this?” Without warning, he started waltzing with you, and you quickly fell into the rhythm, laughing as Kokichi hummed a tune as he danced with you and spun you around. Both Kirumi and the seamstress just watched as you two danced around the room, with Kirumi making sure nothing fell over if you bumped into something. As you stopped, Kokichi dipped you into a long kiss, Kirumi and the seamstress clapped for the two of you.

“Kirumi, scratch ballroom dancing off the list.” You told her breathlessly. As she did, you looked at Kokichi, who had a smug smile on his face.

“Weeelllll?”

“Yeah, yeah, you’re right. Now go away, I need to get out of this dress for dinner.”

“Aww, you mean I can’t stay and watch?” As you got ready to throw a shoe at him, he quickly exited the room, and you shook your head.

Maybe this is where you belonged after all.

#danganronpa x reader #danganronpa #danganronpa imagines #kokichi oma #kokichi ouma #kokichi x reader

79 notes · View notes

alexaconite · 4 years

Text

When Nature Calls [Elorcan]

[Elide/Lorcan] Rated M for masterbation. I cannot contain my love for these two. Rowaelin who?

He was awake - again.

Somewhere between the fourth dawn bird chirping and his fourteenth intrusive thought of the dark haired girl sleeping on the cot above him, Lorcan Salvaterre gave up any hopes of sleep, and sat up from the uncomfortable bed roll he lay claim to. He had tossed and turned into the early hours of the morning, and now he could smell dew on the grass where the sun was thawing the remnants of another bitterly cold night.

The boat he had commandeered - like a common thief, Elide liked to remind him - was anchored near a small patch of woodland, and far enough from civilisation that he hadn't second thought sleeping in the cabin last night. Usually, he rested on the deck where any potential ambush could be picked off easily.

His keen hearing detected nothing out of place, and instead registered the now familiar rise and fall of Elide's slumber. The woman at present - his very reasoning for unrest - was curled on her left side and facing him. Her dark hair was strewn across a makeshift pillow, and her slender neck met a softy curved shoulder that peaked out from beneath a thin blanket.

Her features were gentle in sleep. The tiredness and stress that had been following them for days had ebbed away with the night, and she looked care free in sleep. She looked comfortable. And there was an instinctual side of Lorcan that flared with satisfaction. He had kept the female safe, like a good Fae male should. All was well.

If only she would let him touch that neck. He had breathed in her aroma all night; lavender, from a mixture of herbs she had washed with, and sweet from the molasses she had traded for in the previous town. The coppery tang of blood had vanished some time ago with the end of her bleed, and was replaced with a scent of maidenhood - fertile and ripe. He had tossed and turned all night, enveloped by the smell of her womanhood, and beaten down the primal urge to take, take, take.

Now she slumbered unaware, like a lamb in a wolf's den, and he couldn't pull his eyes from the soft curve where her neck met her shoulder. To sink his teeth into the gentle groove, to taste and touch for just a moment…

A morning bird's song startled him, and he realised the sight he must be. Sitting on the floor with his canines on show, leering at a sleeping woman in the crack of dawn that slithered through the broken window shutter.

Furthermore, was the bigger problem he now had to deal with. The front of his trousers tented obviously with the lusting he had driven himself too. Staring down at the bulge in his pants with disgust, he threw the thin blanket off his legs, and crept like a thief in the night out of the cabin.

If she had woken and saw him, leering at her like a piece of meat, and then looked down at his straining cock…

He hurled insults at himself on the deck of their boat, double checking the rigging, and refusing to acknowledge the demand in his pants. He wouldn't allow himself…he couldn't start a habit now that their paths were to remain entwined on this journey to find that bitch-queen.

He filled their water bottles, readjusted their packs, and cursed those damned birds for their intolerable happiness. But he could hear her breathing; he knew what her chest looked like with each breath, and how her rounded breasts would rise and fall and rise and fall, and how they might feel in his hands…while his lips roamed her neck, nipping and tasting from ear to that forsaken curve he wanted to latch his canines around.

It was instinctual. He was off the boat before he could register any clear thoughts and striding into the woodland in search of some place discreet. He didn't go far, just enough she wouldn't hear him and close enough that he could still see the boat. His hand undid buttons at his front in a juvenile, clumsy manner, and he braced his palm against a tree for support, finally pulling his aching cock free. It was almost relief enough just to be without the constraint of fabric, but his traitorous hand cradled the soft skin and moved of its own accord.

Elide and her eyes that bore into his soul. They were eyes that made him feel like he had a soul left to look at, and that it wasn't mangled and torn from his crimes. He wondered if she would ever see him as he sees her - desirable, wanted, touchable.

Elide and her mouth that could cut a man with words like a dagger's edge. She was sharp and fast with untouchable wit. He wondered what those lips would feel like pressed against his own, and if her tongue would roam his mouth, brushing against his canines…

His eyes lost focus while his hand moved back and forth, pulling every filthy thought he could muster into each stroke across his swollen head. Sweat pooled above his brow, his hair falling forth around his lowered head, and he allowed a hiss of satisfaction between his lips.

Elide...curled up in bed, sighing softly each time she moved. Those little sounds had tormented him all night, and he recalled every little moan she made as if she were splayed beneath him. A groan tumbled from his throat.

Elide and her fucking neck.

His top lip recoiled and he emitted a guttural growl, spilling his seed in ropey lengths onto the tree trunk. He continued to pump his cock, sighing with relief as his orgasm washed away every knot and kink he had been holding onto, and letting a shaky breath leave his chest.

Lorcan rested his forehead against the tree, allowing his cock to soften in his hand. He wouldn't make a habit of this. But he didn't feel guilty either. He eyed the evidence of his release glistening against the trees rough trunk, and a satisfied, lopsided grin crossed his face.

"Lorcan?" he heard her hesitant call.

He hastily tucked himself away, rubbing his hands against his pants, and brushing his hair from his face. He made a show of stepping out of the trees and tying the buttons on his pants. Thank Hellas that she wasn't Fae - the stench of arousal and release must be rolling off him right now - she would have smelled his actions within seconds.

Elide stood on the deck, hands folded across her chest against the morning chill. "Oh, sorry," she muttered, assuming he had risen to pee. The slightest pink tinge crossed her cheeks. "I didn't realise you were-"

He rolled his eyes dismissively, stepping back onto the boat. "I can't think of a better place to answer nature's call than in nature itself."

Her lips twitched in response." Well if you've marked that tree I'll find another," she told him unabashedly, and he felt his chest flutter at how comfortable they had become around each other.

"I believe that is more of a dog trait-"

"Exactly my point," she cut across him, and with a proud smirk, brushed passed. Her elbow ever so slightly grazed his torso and sent his chest into another traitorous frenzy.

Get a hold of yourself, he scolded himself as he watched her cross onto the grassland, you're a grown man.

When she threw a questioning look over her shoulder and pointed to a tree as if to ask if that one was okay, he couldn't help but smile against his own stubbornness, and it was then that Lorcan Salvaterre knew he was royally fucked. Elide Lochan had stirred something inside of him that he had thought long dead.

And he didn't feel one bit guilty.

-END

#throne of glass #elorcan #lorcan salvaterre #elide lochan #elorcanfic #territorial fae male #territorial male nonsense #cadre #rowan whitethorn #aelin galythinius #sjmfics

87 notes · View notes

malkumtend · 4 years

Text

Peace, Battles and Deals. (Baypaw x Dewpaw) - characters owned by @lonely-ghost-606

Just a short fic for my friend @lonely-ghost-606 (check them out if you haven’t already!) This story is based on their characters Baypaw and Dewpaw. You may recognise Dewpaw as the abused daughter of the tyrant VioletStar of Willowclan from Ghost’s “Cut the Cord” animatic on their YouTube channel. All you need to know in preparation for this fic is that she is abused emotionally by her mother and is consistently compared to our other main character Baypaw. Baypaw is the son of Cleopatra and Strongheart, leader and deputy of WaterfallClan. He is widely regarded for his strength, as was expected of him by his parents but they do love him, but he is secretly troubled by the growing tensions between his parents as well as emotions he feels he has to keep secret from his clan mates. WaterfallClan and WillowClan are bitter enemies due to tensions over water resources.

With all that said and done. Let’s get going.

I leave when it gets dark. It isn’t easy getting out of the den without anyone noticing, but I manage. Mother and father remain asleep as I quietly step past them into the dark. I can’t help but smirk when I see them asleep. The all-knowing, poweful leader and deputy dozing away while their son runs off, the clan would probably laugh if they found out. There’s a small pride that feels warm in my chest at the thought that I’m besting them in some way. But softly, I begin to take in the bizarreness of what I’m seeing. They’re so close. Silent, calm, asleep besides each other. Even with the noticeable distance between them, it’s still something. It’s better than… My smile drops, and I groan in irritation. I needed to get out of there.

Surprisingly, it’s even easier to get out of camp. The night patrol is nowhere to be seen and I never smell any WaterfallClan scent when I finally leave clan territory. I know I’m far away to be safe when the steady rush of water fades away, leaving me in the welcome silence of the night.

I sigh in relief, allowing myself a deserved grin. Though maybe, I think, it is worrying our patrols are so useless that they can’t keep a single apprentice in. Then again, I wasn’t just any apprentice. Thanks to my parents, I knew the territory like the back of my paw. I’d have to know that much if I was ever going to…

I shake my head again, this time growling, as soon as the unwelcome thought crawls in.

I begin to pace further from the camp. The moon is full tonight, lighting the forest as if it were my own personal guide. Maybe even the stars are being generous because they know who I am. I snicker a little. I don’t let my guard down, of course. I roll my eyes as StrongHeart’s voice fills my head. Never try to take comfort from being alone. When you’re alone, you’re at your most vulnerable. As if I would be so foolish. I know perfectly well to keep fixed for any possible fight; I was a Warrior after all. Besides, it was my enemy who would be sorry if they tried to sneak up on me. I wasn’t some soft apprentice; they’d soon find that out. If they wanted a fight, they’d better know to bring an army.

Still, I keep to the shadows, tasting the air every couple of seconds. After all, it would do no good if I got a few silly wounds. I didn’t want to make Cleopatra suspicious.

When I approach the river, I scent again for any WillowClan patrols. The stars knew those fox-hearts were always trying to take more water than they needed for that mange-pelt they called a leader. The thought of raking my claws on their pelts was definitely tempting, but thankfully, for them, they seemed to be sticking to their territory for once. The line between out territories was broad enough, so it was easy to make my way along without getting too close.

I just wanted to get out of WaterfallClan for a while. I couldn’t sleep and the thought of walk that could help clear my head of any ‘undesirable’ thoughts was too much to take. I’d have just been tossing and turning until some cat woke up and scolded me, it would be best to get out for a bit. It wasn’t like I had anything important tomorrow, just another training session then some hunting. I’d be fine, I could always pass through that stuff in my sleep.

Being tired because of a moonhigh walk sounded a lot better than being tired because I couldn’t stop thinking about the stupid stuff.

I only briefly take my head away from the trail beside the river, but I stop. Just a tree-length away, I could see what might have been a thousand shadowy shapes. They draped down, swaying in the light breeze, so close to the water they might have been stroking it in long green tongues. Behind them, I saw a thick, but stumpy, tree trunk that stood tall, holding its cluster of leaves that hung like thin claws. Willow trees. I’d never seen them this close. They weren’t typically found on our clan territory. And from what I could tell, this land wasn’t part of WillowClan either. I couldn’t catch their reek at least. I walk closer, admittedly a little in awe at how large the trees were. The leaves were soft on my coat and tickled slightly when I brushed past them. The soil was unusually moist and littered with light green leaves that flickered like stones in the small traces of light. The shadows themselves had an emerald sheen that was nothing else but alluring as I padded through the hanging shrubs.

The shrubs weave together as if they were linking tails, crossing their soft leaves, creating a small tunnel as I carry on. I can smell something new coming over me. Something floral, a lot of flowers actually, spicy and sweet. The dampness leaves my paws as I feel the ground become solid, yet smooth. The grass sticks up, fresh and sharp, but they feel like feathers as they brush my fur.

Slowly, the narrow tunnel widens as the willows jet back, letting the grassland expand in a luminous green. The colour is dim but almost blinding when it gleams in the dark. My jaw drops. I’ve never seen a meadow like this before on any hunting patrol. The grassland around WaterfallClan was typically wet and your paws typically sank into a gross coat of mud. But this was crisp, gentle, alluring even.

Approaching the centre of a small hill I can see more colours flash. Flowers, I realise. A wide array of flowers and herbs I hadn’t even seen in the medicine den. I take a light smell at the closest one, its orange petals wide and succulent with nectar, and I almost feel ashamed by the way the gentle aroma makes my pelt quiver.

I look up at the meadow and I’m suddenly smiling. Has anyone ever found this land before? The small prick of doubt makes me purr. It makes me think of how this meadow was mine. My discovery. My place. I am alone under the green sheen of willow, alone with the fresh grass and the delicate herbs. My head buzzes a little, and I am softly aware of my blood becoming warm.

And then I’m laughing.

Not the laughter I craft when I best an apprentice in training, or when a mentor compares their sulking student with me. All those times, I just laughed because I felt there was nothing else I was meant to do.

But right now. I’m laughing hard. Because the suddenness of the glee and the peace makes it so I can’t stop.

I start leaping across the grass, as if the indents of my paws in the grass will mark the meadow as my own. I’m careful to not displace any flowers as I breathe in the wave of smells that stroke my muzzle and vibrate in my throat. With no eyes on me, I relish for a moment. I could fixate on how my heart beats so loud that I can’t hear anything else.

Here I could just have some time to myself.

There were no apprentices I needed to fight.

There were no talks of war with some stupid clan.

There was no worry here at all. Just me. I could take this in all I wanted. And here, that peace wouldn’t be interrupted by the abrupt stab of an argument I’d be forced to witness.

I find myself at the top of the hill and then I’m rolling down, twisting through laughter and grass, letting the memories ooze like dirt in the soil. My throat begins to hurt a little, and my back bumps on a few stray mole hills, but I don’t care. Finally, I’m on my back, embedded in a nest of wildflowers.

There’s some pressing need inside of me to stay there, that everything will stay great if I don’t move. I blink up at the swaying willow leaves, dancing as if they were birds in the sky. My back feels warm, I’m pressing my paws into the flowers beside me, paddling in petals and nectar that don’t break under my touch.

Everything is just natural here. I close my eyes, not bothering to hide my purr. This is something I could get used to.

“What are you doing here?”

The voice is scratchy, intervening, rough and unfriendly. Worst of all, I recognise it.

Of course. My eyes open into the glare. Of all the scum, it would have to be her.

I’m on my paws before I know it, shaking away any traces of flower or dew. My muscles are stiff with adrenaline and panic. The scent of WillowClan immediately attacks me and I bristle with disgusted anger. But it’s the sight of her that makes me growl. She’s there, bristling like me, a treelength away.

When I’ve seen her before at four-trees, she’s always had that same unlikable aura that permeates around her now. Maybe that was why she was always on her own. Served her right for always looking so sullen and moody all the time.

Then again, that wasn’t a shock. If I’d been unlucky enough to be tortured with that thing as my mother, I wouldn’t be smiling either. I couldn’t help but hate her. She looked so much like that fox-heart it was impossible to like her.

There’s a mixture of hatred and confusion on her face. Honestly it might match her fur to some degree. The confusion sitting in the light violet-grey side of her face, while the anger storms in the darker shade that horrifically takes up the other side. I sniff, my anger growing. Her mother is definitely obvious on her.

“What are you doing here?” I demand. The beauty of the area darkens with her mere presence.

Her fangs glint in a crooked way. “I asked first!”

“Yeah?” I scoff, “Well you can answer first too!”

I hear her growl in a pathetic attempt of intimidation. “A long way off your territory, aren’t you? I could practically smell fish from my den.”

“Last time I checked, this wasn’t your territory either, Dew-drop.” I fuel myself on the way her fur spikes.

“Don’t call me that! We’re closer to my territory than yours.” She narrows her eyes even more. “Is WaterfallClan looking to steal more land? Why am I not surprised?”

Now I’m the one who growls. “You’re the thieves, not us! I was just going for a walk, and I certainly wasn’t looking to have anything to do with your worthless clan!”

As if to spite me, she just smirks at me. If she’s looking to get me mad, she’s definitely succeeding! “Don’t you think you should be walking a little closer to your clan? You’re lucky our patrols haven’t ripped off your fur for bedding yet.”

“Pfft! Why would I be scared of your clan?” I flash my claws at her, strengthening up in a way I knew was threatening.

I can see her jaw clench, but her smirk stiffens with another warning blink of her sharp glare. “Careful, mamma isn’t here to keep you safe, river-rat!” There’s a dare to her voice, almost like she wanted me to rip her to shreds. I must admit, with her fur on edge like that, she does look almost like a worthy challenge.

Almost.

“Heh.” I meet her dare with a step forward. “I don’t need back up for any of your scum.” I’m trying hard to scare her off. As easy as it would be to tear her apart, I really couldn’t be bothered. I came here because I wanted to relax. The sweet scent of the flowers wouldn’t be so appealing if they were coated in the stink of her blood.

But like the idiot she is, she takes another step forward. My teeth clench with aggravation. “Then why don’t you prove it if you’re so tough, big guy?”

Part of me wants to meet her threat with my claws. But I relent. I wasn’t as much of an idiot as she was. I didn’t need to get into some pointless fight over some Tyrant’s spawn. “As gratifying as it would be to put you in your place, I prefer an actual fight.” I inhale the fury that sparks on her face like the warm smell of prey. “I’d get a better battle out of a kit than you.”

“Coward!” She hisses. I scoff.

“Whatever.” I turn away from her, impatient to get back to the other side of the hill. “Do me a favour and keep away from me, eh? Smells better on the other side.” I’m ready to block out whatever stupid mouse-dung that she could come up with.

But she surprises me.

“Oh sure, I wouldn’t want to get in the way of your cuddle time with the flowers. Guess that kittypet blood really did make you soft.”

I’m not sure if it’s the fact that she saw what I wanted to keep secret, or the direct insult against my mother, but my blood is immediately boiling, and I’m suddenly sprinting at her.

I’m satisfied when I see a slight jolt come over Dewpaw as I rush at her. To her credit, she doesn’t run away. She pounces at me first, but that’s her first mistake. I slink down onto my belly, using my pace to push me underneath her as she whirls over my head. She doesn’t twist her body, so it’s easy to land a quick strike at her exposed side.

She yowls, landing on her paws with a grunt. She’s quick to turn back to me. “Lucky hit.” She hisses. I get into a fighter’s crouch, placing one paw in front, ready to hit, and one paw back in case I needed to change positions swiftly. I can’t help but laugh silently at how she immediately braces for another pounce; did they teach the apprentices anything in WillowClan. This was going to be easier than I thought.

I’m similarly shocked and disgusted by her idiocy as she pounces forward again, clearly wanting to land some swing at my chest. She was so obvious she may as well have been saying out loud what she was thinking. I just have to side step to easily dodge her and I do it again when she furiously swings at my legs. She’s getting frustrated and that’s her second mistake.

Frustration made you desperate.

“Missed again!” I have to sing when her paw whirls at nothing again, she actually almost loses her balance. I smile to myself. If I wanted to, I could have killed her at so many times during this pointless excuse of a ‘fight’. “If this is the best WillowClan can offer, I’m honestly sympathetic for you lot.”

She lets out a lungeful of air. “Shut up!” She screams. It’s working. If I make her angry, she’ll just get even more desperate, and will soon tire herself out. Then it’ll be easy to pin her. There wasn’t even really a need to mess her up, she wasn’t any kind of threat.

Her next two swipes are just as easily missed, and I’m able to jump over her when she pounces at me again. “Fight back!” She demands.

“Nah. This is more fun!” I take a moment to laugh to myself as she pants in exhaustion.

And that was my mistake.

Because with a surge that wipes away all her exhaustion she darts forward and when I pounce to my side, she instantly follows me with a twist of her body that catches me off guard. Before the smile can leave my face, I feel her paw pound against my cheek. Hard. The following swift hit is just as painful.

I catch my feet well, but the shock makes my heart pound. My teeth ache from the hit, but I keep that hidden. How had she been able to turn like that when she was so tired? And she was tired. Darting a look at her, I can see her fur poofed out like she was ready to drop there. But her paws remained stoic, and her legs didn’t quiver.

And she was smiling. Smiling in a proud way that made me glower.

“No.” She spat out. “That was fun.”

Okay. I admit my foolishness to myself and curse it. No more taking it easy.

I wait for her to obviously lunge at me again, and this time I don’t dodge her. I take advantage of what I’d seen before. My paw swings down onto her back, dizzying her. She met the ground, this time her legs buckling. She tries to get up quickly, but I don’t give her the time.

My paws are on her back before she can let out a grunt. My back legs rest on her spine, and one fore paw presses hard on her neck. She writhes around, screaming bloody murder, but I’m not giving her the chance this time.

“Give up.” I offer mercifully.

Her response would have made a prophet gawk.

I groan and slip off for a moment so I can wrench her onto her back. My paws find her chest again and I’m holding her down once more. But this time my forepaw is on her neck. “I could kill you.” If I wanted, my claws could unsheathe and that would be it for her.

Her eyes meet mine and the defeat I expect is muted. The fight lingers and holds there, stubbornly refusing to expire. She doesn’t stop writhing. Irritation is beginning to replace my anger. What was with this molly? Didn’t she know when she’d lost?

Under my paw I can feel her ferocious growl. “Then why don’t you try it?” I can almost see my shocked reflection in her fangs.

Apparently not.

I could have put an end to her right there. It would have just taken a spasm in my paws.

But she’d called my bluff.

I groan again. What a pain? I didn’t want to kill her; I didn’t really even want to hurt her. I’d already won. There was no point in doing anything drastic with her.

Besides, she’d already ruined enough. I’d come here to avoid this very kind of situation. But I’d let her pull me into her stupid mindgames. This realisation just adds to my irritation, and my desire to beat her dwells a little more.

Eventually, I’m too annoyed to hold her down anymore. I push myself off her with a huff, glaring at her as I smooth down the ruffled patches of fur. “Like I’d start some war over you.” I hiss.

The look she’s giving me is both smug and furious. She gets to her paws quickly, as if she couldn’t remember how badly she was losing. Maybe she was that stupid. “What’s the matter?” She spits, “Too afraid to finish a fight?”

I’m too angry to let her provoke me. “That wasn’t a fight.” I meow. “That was a beating.” I wouldn’t even say I was taunting her there, but her claws flex again. A voice warns me that she’s dumb enough to lunge at me again.

By some miracle however, she’s smart enough to just let out a bitter hiss and remain where she is. “That mark on your face says otherwise.”

I’m confused for a moment, then I hear the small droplet of blood hit the ground beneath me. My eyes widen. She had her claws unsheathed? Fox-dung, she hated me that much? I growl, I hadn’t bled in a fight for ages. The last thing I wanted was for her to do it.

“Lucky hit.” I reply, “You were the one pinned down, not me.”

As I wipe a washed paw across the wound, I await her response. It doesn’t come. My lips purse, and I turn, half-thinking she was planning some cowardly attack. She’s sitting down, glaring at the ground. There’s something dark mixing with the clear anger on her face. It’s similar to the face she usually has at the gatherings.

I snort quietly. Whatever. Like I cared! What ran through her head was nothing I wanted anything to do with. As long as she kept her distance, we’d be fine.

My stomach sinks a little. There wasn’t really a reason to stay here anymore. Whatever peace I’d wanted to gather was gone now. Plus, I’d have to think of some excuse for how this stupid cut got on my face. The only good thing was that she’d have to find an even better excuse for all the dirt and bruises that stuck to her pelt.

I groaned, it still wasn’t like her problems did anything to quell mine. I began to pad back home again. The stink of WillowClan and blood was mixing in my head and it was slowly making my blood run a horrible cold.

“Where are you going?” I hear her shout behind me, like I was doing something wrong. “We’re not done.”

“Yes we are.” I say, not looking back. I wasn’t wasting any more time with her. “I’m going back to my Clan. Why don’t you do the same?”

“I don’t follow your orders!”

I roll my eyes. This crazy molly! “Fine! Do what you like then.”

It’s silent for a second as I walk up the hill. “You going back to your flower patch?” I can hear the smirk in her voice.

I turn back, my eyes trying to burn away whatever stupidity has seemed to overtake her. “You didn’t see anything?”

She laughs. Obviously pleased that she’s lured me back. “Oh, I think I did. And I think a lot of my friends would love to hear about what the strongest apprentice in the forest gets up to when he thinks no one’s watching.”

My face is a raging fire, enough that it would scare off any apprentice I knew. But she isn’t like them. Her blood is as cold as stone. Underneath my snarls, I am panicking, even if it’s just a little. “You wouldn’t dare.” My grit teeth don’t falter. “I bet you don’t even have any friends.”

Dewpaw’s head twitches to the side. “Is that a fact? Oh, then I guess you don’t have anything to worry about.”

The change is so strong we both notice it. The power shift. It makes my insides clench, while she straightens brightly. If I denied it, my clanmates more than likely wouldn’t believe her, but my parents would most definitely get suspicious, and worst of all Violetstar would use any rumour she could against WaterfallClan. And regardless of whether it could be proven or not, that would only heighten the tensions between our clans.

“You rat.” I hiss, I’m ashamed of how soft my voice sounds.

She shrugs, “Yeah, it’d be pretty embarrassing for you, wouldn’t it?”

I take another step forward, “Are you trying to get yourself mauled?”

“You can do what you want, I’ll still get away. By the next gathering everyone will know.” She warns. I stop in my tracks as I sense she’s about to run.

I have to try and keep calm. If I act like I don’t care there’s still a small chance I can throw her off. I wave my tail at her dismissively, “No one in my clan will believe you. And if you think I care one bit what your kind thinks of me, then you’re a real mouse-brain.”

“If that’s the case, then go ahead and get gone.” The way she says it, so sure of herself, admittedly makes me feel ill.

I don’t move. I can’t move. I feel like prey cornered onto a cliff. Every thought I try to make just makes my heart race all the more. In her eyes, I can see she isn’t seeing what everyone is meant to. She’s seeing something else. Something vulnerable. The parts of myself I love and hate so much. I haven’t felt so pathetic for so long.

I look up at her. Her eyes are narrowed and her lips are thin. Thinking. Probably figuring out what kind of blackmail she can use to torture me. My paws are shaking either from anger or humiliation. I don’t want to know which. I think again how I could easily silence her if I wanted to.

But she’s caught me. She knows I wouldn’t do it. She can see it in the way I stupidly bite my lip. I sigh, defeated. I have no choice but to await it.

“Tell you what,” I brace myself as she starts, darting a look of hate her way. She doesn’t flinch. Her mind is made up. “If you tell me what you’re really doing here, I’ll keep your little secret.”

I stiffen, trying to make sense of what I’ve heard. She can see I don’t trust her. “What?”

“You heard me. I don’t think your deaf.”

I unlatch my jaw, “I was just out on a walk.”

“That’s nice.” She says smoothly, “Now how about the truth?”

The fire smokes in my throat again, choking me, blazing in me. “Why do you care?” I force out. There’s no point in lying to her. Apparently that Tyrant blood had decided to give her mind reading powers.

She just shrugs, her tail waves impatiently.

I want to scoff and storm away, but that would do no good. She’s unnaturally controlled right now, nothing like the rushing, impulsive fool I’d fought just a few moments ago. Her eyes patiently lie on me, her claws tapping the ground like a waiting mother. Her aura of smugness makes me want to vomit.

Instead, I think up the closest thing I can think of that will make the truth yet hide the worst parts.

“I… I just wanted to find someplace to relax okay?” I force out roughly. She waits still so I go on a little more. “Training wears me out a little, alright, of course I need to unwind a little sometimes.”

She raises a brow rigidly, “Why not do that at your own clan?”

I blink quickly to hide the voices and images that flash over me. My eyes find the ground, still straight enough to look strong. “It’s more… relaxing on my own. No idiot’s gonna bother me here.”

Or so I thought. I keep that part shut. She doesn’t.

“I thought the same when I came here.” Her snicker makes me growl. “Oh relax, don’t be such a stick in the mud.”

“That’s rich coming from you.” I mutter, glancing back at her. I’m sick of this now. “There, I told you why I came. Now will you keep your mouth shut?”

She must see something I hate because she’s smirking again. Don’t kill her. Don’t kill her. Not yet.

“So, you come here because you wanted to relax with some flowers?” Her voice is more questioning than unkind. It doesn’t stop me from groaning.

“I wasn’t looking for the flowers.”

“But you were resting in them?”

“I could have rested anywhere!”

“I could hear you smelling them. You were purring.”

Oh for the love of- “Look we had a deal; will you keep quiet about this or do I have to make you?” It comes out of me too hoarse to be threatening.

Her chest settles down softly, the stiffness in her eyes has faded, replaced by something I can’t describe. She’s laughing, but it sounds different. “Relax. I’ll keep your secret.”

I’m just about to let the silent relief come to me.

“But, in exchange for keeping your other secret, I want your help with something.”

Something in my chest explodes. A thousand dark voices are screaming somewhere in my chest. “What?!” I yowl. “What other secret?”

“The reason you’re hear of course!” She smiles at me, mockingly sweet. Her eyes gleam like a fox’s.

Starclan, whatever I did to deserve this, I repent my sins. I will literally grovel for hours at your mercy if you’ll kindly make her drop dead, right here.

“You slimy little-”

She raises her paw at me, waving my threat away. “Yeah yeah, let’s get to the point okay? If you want me to keep quiet about that, you need to do something for me.”

I run my paws into my eyes until I see spots. My claws are digging into my fur, desperate to latch to anything that resembles flesh. I should have known she’d trick me like that! “And what it that?” I speak like I’m vomiting out smoke and mud.

When I look at her, anticipating her smug exterior, my anger gives way to surprise. Her paw is covering her mouth like she was hiding a scar of some kind. Her eyes are wistful, darting to the sky as if the trees would speak for her. And there’s some kind of darkness on the patches of fur below her eyes.

I edge back, my mouth opening. Was she blushing? My heart begins to pound and I can feel some kind of tremor in my tail. Just what the heck was she going to ask me to do?

“I… w-want you to t-train here with me.”

I look away then back at her. I try to find any difference on her exterior. The only thing I can see is that she’s blushing harder! She was being serious!

“Say that again?” She wanted to train with me?

“I’m not saying it again!” She snaps, her hostile glare coming back like it belongs there.

“Why on Silverpelt would you want me to train with you? Better yet, why the heck would I ever come back here just to train with you?”

She huffs, her ears digging back. “One – I’ll keep your secret if you do. Two – if you do it, that means after we’re done you can go back and sniff flowers all you want.” She ignores my hate filled face. “And three…” She loses her breath, trailing away with a bitter mutter.

“What?”

She forces herself to look back to me. “I need to train. It’s… hard training back home. I’m sick of losing to the likes of you.”

I resist the urge to snap back at her. I’m genuinely put off by how odd she looks. It was like she was doing everything she could to avoid my eyes. “Why can’t you train with your clanmates?”

“I would if I could. But they wouldn’t dare try and take me on seriously.”

“Why?”

The anger on her face is morphing. Her eyes darken and her breath shakes as she hisses. “You know why.”

Once again, she looks similar to how I’ve always seen her. And now I can recognise the look that makes her fur slacken and her teeth clench. She was miserable. I just needed to look at her, look at who she was, to see why.

“Okay.” I sigh, finding myself bored. “So why do you want my help?” Something clicks in my head that makes me chuckle. “Is this you willing to admit I’m better than you?”

She twists up, her tail lashing, but a fake grin on her muzzle. “Well, you’ll certainly do.” She looks away again, her façade morphing into a neutral expression. “I just need to fight with someone who I know won’t go easy on me.” I snort. That would certainly be me. “Whatever training I can get, I’ll take.”

“Hm.” I mutter quickly, “Well you’ll have to keep looking. I don’t want to train with you.” Coming here for the sole purpose of fighting with some cat I hated was actually more that the exact opposite of what I came here to do. I wasn’t going to help my enemy get better. Spending time, no matter how forced it was, with her was worse than any punishment I could imagine.

“I don’t want to particularly want to train with you!” She exclaims angrily, then glowers to her side, her whiskers drooping. “But I don’t have a lot of other choices.” Light blue pupils swipe back at me with an ugly sneer. “And neither do you, if you want me to keep quiet.”

She has a point there. But I’m still not convinced she’ll stick to this deal. Besides that meant I would have to come out here when she wanted me too! “I’m not risking getting caught for you.”

“Just lie and say you were going for a walk. I’ll be sneaking out too, you know. You’re not the only one making a risk here.”

“What happens if I can’t turn up because I’m caught? You’ll just go back on your deal because you thought I was dodging you!”

“Well, would you?”

Probably. It just hits me then that I’ve told her a plan I could have taken. I growl weakly. I wasn’t thinking straight at all around this pest.

“How about this then?” She says, her tail waving along the grass. “If one of us doesn’t turn up that night, the next night we’ll catch up from there, and if you don’t show up that time, then I’ll let slip your little secret.” She snaps. “At least then I’m giving you a chance then.”

Giving me a chance? I would have been doing it because of her! “Am I supposed to be grateful to you for that?”

Her tone is blunt. “Yes.”

And now she’s looking more like her mother. My claws want to scratch at the ground. This wasn’t fair. I still had more to lose than her if I took part in this stupid deal. The situation cuts into me deeper and deeper with each passing thought. Surely there had to be something I could use against her. I think for a moment and find myself leering at her.

“What if I told everyone how you asked another clan cat for training help? What if I told them why you didn’t want to train with your clanmates?” I spit at her, feeling the tide slowly ease off me. She had secrets she had to keep as well.

Her eyes fill incredulously, but it’s just for a moment. She soon shrugs. “Then I guess we both lose, huh?”

Horror overtakes me again. My tongue trembles on my jaw. Was she really not fazed at all? If she didn’t care then there would be no point in telling anyone. I begin to feel disgusted by the fact that unlike her I have a reputation to keep. I try again, scowling. “You really want your mother finding out about that?”

She laughs. It’s dry. Toneless. Unreserved. But she actually laughs. “That’s my problem, not yours. You’d be surprised how little difference it would make.” She sniffs, staring coldly at me. The weight of her words hangs in the air, but it gives her the control she needs. Her eyes light with evil amusement as she watches me splutter.

She really didn’t care.

My breathing has become audibly clear with panic. Everything seemed to press into me like a swarm of badgers. But more than anything it was the powerlessness she had talked me into. That was it. She’d just had to lure me here and now I was shaking like some kind of frozen elder. I think of what Cleopatra or Strongheart would do if they could see me like this in front of an enemy.

They might actually join together for once just to scold me. Like normal parents.

I don’t know why but Dewpaw doesn’t look like she wants to laugh at me. She stares at me, awkward and confused. I don’t want to think how I look. If I do, I might actually feel tears fight to come out.

I hear her cough absently. “Look, all you have to do is come here and train with me for a while.” She says, I hesitate to call the tone soft. Soft didn’t match her at all. “After we’re done, I’ll leave you alone and you can relax all you like. And I’ll keep quiet about it.”

I glance at her, stonily. She sighs. “Okay. I promise I’ll keep quiet about this if you train with me. Swear on my clan.” She brushes her paw over her heart like some silly kit. “It means we both get what we want. I get to train, you get to do… whatever you want, okay?”

She’s watching me mull over her words. I’m desperate yet reluctant. I can’t help it. This has stormed over the land like the rush of the waterfall. Truthfully, I knew I didn’t really have a choice. I couldn’t let her get loose with what she knew. I look over her, her toned, but unimpressive, muscles. I could just tell that training with her would be a fool’s errand. There was no way she would beat me, even if she did learn how to properly move in a fight. I’d just end up beating her every night.

Somewhat of a pleasant idea, but not enough for me to want to sneak off every night.

But I suppose that what I want doesn’t really matter. The only want I could sustain was her silence.

Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. My lips thin as I consider this. I’d get some time away from WaterfallClan, and it wasn’t like I’d have to spend all night training her. I’d just battle her, say some light moves that wouldn’t make her too powerful, and then maybe she’d finally be satisfied to leave me alone. If I was being honest, the very fact she would want to train with me was a sign enough that she couldn’t afford to be picky.

My eyes go to the corners. She’s still there sat down. I can see an impatient frown on her muzzle. I can see her tail thumping crossly on the ground. But most of all, I can see the vague, lightless hope in her eyes.

Something inside me gives way and I let out a sharp groan. “Fine. I’ll do it.”

She perks up, her chest puffing out with a meow. Quickly a frown comes to her though, and we resume glaring at each other. “Okay, great. Guess that means your secret’s safe.”

“You make sure it is.” I hiss at her. Just because I’d agreed to help her, it didn’t mean I had to be nice. She wouldn’t be, I knew. “Unlike you, I have a reputation to uphold. So, keep it shut that I go here!”

She rolls her eyes, “Whatever. Sure thing, flower-patch.”

“Don’t call me that!”

“I can’t make that promise.” Her eyes flash at me mischievously, a playful way that doesn’t match her at all. I have no control of my eyes as they widen. “You keep yours and we’ll be just fine.” She says. She turns away from her, tail swaying to and fro in a manner of goodbye. “I’m going. We’ll meet here tomorrow night.”

My fur thins down, “Tomorrow?”

She looks back, one eye widened, the other mockingly drooped halfway. “What? You got a date or something?” The half-opened eye winks at me as a cool grin forms on her mouth.

Against my will, I flush a little. In the emerald night, her fangs glint like arrowheads under the water. My silence is telling; the way my eyes are trying to make her erupt into flames are even more so.

“Didn’t think so.” She purrs. I watch her as she walks away, still racing from the embarrassment of this night. “Have fun!” She calls back to me. I scoff at her poor mockery.

It was a mocking call, right? Of course it was! Best to return it. “Hope those scratches make your clan suspicious, Dewdrop!” I hiss at her back.

“These things?” She doesn’t turn back but I can feel her holding back a snarl. “Oh please, there so tiny I’ll just blame them on playing with a kit.”

The tight rage in my chest keeps me quiet enough that I don’t respond. Her tail lashes again, swift and seamless. See you tomorrow. It might mean. I don’t really care if it does or not. She gently disappears under the willows until she’s nothing but a shade of the night. Soon, I’m alone again.

I can’t help but feel like I have to grunt. I still can’t believe what I’ve agreed to. How a journey for a night of peace could go so wrong? I make my way back to the untrampled flowers, breathing them in to quell the ill density in my stomach. This is what I was here for, and I was alone like I wanted, I didn’t need to think about her anymore.

But she’s really ruined my night.

Because she’s worked her way in. Either because of her words or the battle she forced out of me, but I can’t stop thinking about her disgusting grin or her rough laughter. Instead of the flowers sweet nectar, I smell her damp, earthy scent, clouding the area like a toxic fog. I try several different patches and at least a hundred breeds that I’d never seen before, but it remains lingering around me like a rogue in my camp. Unwanted. Dangerous even.

I cannot repress the thoughts, and soon enough I’m too sour and angry to want to stay here anymore. I don’t even think I want to come back. But I have to. My paws cut away at the ground in anger. Why did she have to ruin everything? I exhale through my nose. There was no point looming on it, that was probably what she wanted.

But even that doesn’t stop it. Even after I’ve left the area, even as I find my way back to clan camp, and even as I’ve creeped back to my nest and curled down to sleep again, that image remains. Her looking back at me, smiling smugly, white fangs shining in my head.

I cover my eyes with an internalised, hateful groan. This was not what I expected to fall asleep to. AT ALL.

#Baypaw #dewpaw #bayleaf #dewshade #waterfallclan #willowclan #lonely ghost 606

11 notes · View notes

squirrelcrow-po3 · 4 years

Text

Into the Wild Rewrite: Chapter 1

← Prologue | Chapter 2 →

Dead leaves crunched under Rusty’s small paws as he stalked through the trees. The sound contrasted with the relative silence of the rest of the forest. A flash of gray fur had caught his eye, and he began to pursue the prey somewhat clumsily. His heart thumped in his chest as he came upon the small mouse just a few tail-lengths away from him. It sat up on its hind legs, sensing him once he was near. The young cat fell into an awkward crouch, hoping that it hadn’t seen him.

Once the rodent got back down and began smelling at the ground, Rusty launched himself forward with his short hind legs. He batted the mouse towards a tree before jumping back onto it, clenching it between his paws. He knocked the creature back and forth as if it were a toy, dazing it enough that it wouldn’t run away each time he hit it away.

A clattering noise made his ears stand on-end. Like something hard on metal, which confused him. Once he was distracted, the prey managed to slip from his claws and scampered off. Rusty grumbled with annoyance as he watched the gray form disappear into the forest. He stood there for a moment, allowing the cool breeze bristle through his fluffy fur, especially around his neck where his collar was typically clasped. The freedom felt amazing, despite losing the mouse.

However, the disappointment of letting his potential prey escape rang in his mind. But in a moment, the darkness of the woods lit up with white light. It hurt to look at, causing Rusty to squint at the sight. A glowing feline stepped from the shadows and placed the escaped piece of prey at his paws. Rusty looked from the mouse back to the starry cat with his mouth agape. He felt something ripple through his fur as the other cat glanced down at him with a calm smile.

He heard a voice say words he couldn’t understand, making him turn away from the figure before him. It was echoed and muffled. Maybe it was his name but he wasn’t sure. The cat in front of him made everything feel so surreal, even if it just smiled at him and did nothing else. Then, he felt a force press on his back, making his eyes go wide. It wasn’t hard enough to cause pain, but startled him.

He blinked frantically at his paws, realizing that he was now laying down and upon lifting his head, he realized he was back in his den. The stark, still air of the room contrasted to the crisp wind he felt in his dream. He glanced up at his Twoleg patting his back before they stood up and walked from the room. He presumed they would go to bed soon, since they always fed him beforehand. Rusty stretched out with a yawn and padded over to his bowl, taking in a mouthful of pellets his owner had put in. He wished it was the taste of mouse on his tongue, but he was somewhat satisfied with the food he was given. They had a bland taste, but it filled his aching belly.

Instead of going back to his cozy nest, Rusty ducked out of the flap leading out of his den. He stepped out into the garden with a deep breath. Fresh dew clung to the well-trimmed blades of grass as they shifted when he walked. His owners took such good care of their garden, it confused him. The sickeningly sweet smell of the flowers his Twolegs grew made Rusty’s lips curl, but he made his way past them to leap up onto the fence posts. He enjoyed sitting there on nights like these. It gave him an excellent view of his neighbors gardens and, more importantly, the dense greenery of the forest just outside his yard. The one he had dreams about multiple times since the last full moon.

He heard his name called from the entrance of the den - he knew his owners wanted him to return inside, they didn’t like for him to stay out too late. But tonight, something was telling him not to come back. It was hard to ignore the thoughts of warmth and gentle pets he was greeted with when he would curl up in his Twolegs’ nest. But the forest seemed to be pulling him away from all that. Once he looked back from the yard to the forest, he noticed something walking through the trees. A gentle glow cutting through the shadows of the canopy of trees. It was a figure similar to those from his dreams: a shiny, starry cat prancing through the greenery. His posture straightened in surprise.

“Hey, wait!” Rusty called, jumping down from the fence. The bell around his neck jingled and that, in combination to his yelling, alerting the figure to his presence. They darted back into the forest, slowly disintegrating into shimmering dust as they went. Rusty’s expression softened with disappointment. He hated the feeling of not knowing if what he was seeing was real. Perhaps he was just seeing things. Maybe it would be best just to return to his nest.

More jingling was heard from behind him as a cat jumped up on the fence. “Hey, Rusty,” the cat said. The ginger tom turned around with a flick of his ear. “Oh. Hey, Smudge,” he replied. “You’re out late tonight.” The black and white tom smirked. “Well, I was gonna go to bed but…” he began, reaching his hind leg to itch underneath his collar. “I saw you by the woods and got worried about you! You’re not goin’ in there, are you?” Rusty shifted a bit, glancing uncomfortably towards the forest. “Uhm. I was just thinking I’d take a little look,” he replied nervously.

“But!” Smudge said. “It’s dangerous there!” Rusty raised a brow quizzically. “Oh yeah, have you ever been in there?” Smudge gave a tiny shrug. “Hmm… no… But Henry went in there!” The ginger tom couldn’t help but let out a chuckle. “Really? Henry went in there? He’s so lazy, he barely leaves his den anymore.”

“He told me he caught a robin in there, though!” the black and white tom responded, giving Rusty a worried look. “There’s wildcats who kill and eat each other! And their claws are so sharp they can cut through trees!” The ginger cat frowned. “Well, I’ll only be in there for a bit. I’m sure those ‘wildcats’ won’t even notice me.” Rusty barely gave any attention to Smudge’s final “don’t say I didn’t warn you!” when he turned to walk off into the forest. The other house cat hopped back into his garden without another word. Trying to dissuade Rusty from going was impossible at this point.

The ginger cat immediately noticed that the grass just beyond the fence was thicker and more bristled than that of the garden - like that of a startled cat. It felt strange underneath his paws, poking at his pads. He gave a few rasps across his fluffy chest fur to calm his nerves. What if what Smudge said was true? It couldn’t be. It was far too ridiculous. But the ‘what if’ was bugging him out of his mind as he vanished into the thick trees.

A sense of recollection came flooding back when a mouse scampered a small distance away, scuttling around some nearby brambles. It was just like his dreams! He tried to remember back to what he did wrong last time, but the round of his collar ringing every time he walked hindered him from doing so. He crouched, narrowing his eyes in anticipation as a spark shot through his body. Rusty’s haunches shifted back and forth as he prepared to jump forward, and he was grateful that his bell only rang dully as he moved from side to side.

However, the sudden sound of cracking twigs made both him and the rodent jump. And if that didn’t scare the creature away, his bell’s sudden ring certainly did. Rusty watched sadly as the prey ran off as it had in his dreams. But this time, no mystical figure reclaimed the prize for him. As he stood frozen still, he noticed a bushy tail waving through a patch of ferns. He strained his nose to scent what it possibly could be. The abundance of new smells overwhelmed him, but he could tell it wasn’t a dog or any cat he had ever smelled. The scent of prey clung to the strange creature. Rusty became too curious and began to pad towards it. But then, the tail disappeared into the shrubbery, and the rustling began to sound all around the house cat. He whipped his head around in confusion, trying to find where the noise was coming from. However, it sounded as though it was all around him at once. The fur on his spine stood up as the sound of pawsteps crept up behind him. Before he could realize it, the sound became louder and louder, until it was just a few tail-lengths behind him.

His pursuer crashed into him at full force, slamming him into the trunk of a nearby oak. Rusty yowled once the creature jumped onto his back. Every time he writhed to shake it off of him, its needle claws and teeth clump to his pelt even tighter. The house cat was thrown onto his side by the weight on top of him and, trying to think fast, he rolled onto his back. The creature didn’t catch onto his ploy and, remembering how he would fight with his siblings as a kit, he pushed on its belly with his back paws as hard as he could. It wasn’t enough to knock his attacker off of him, but he heard the creature wheeze as the breath was kicked out of it.

Under the weight of the creature, he wriggled from its weakened grasp. Once he scrambled up to his paws, Rusty rushed back towards the familiar glow of his Twolegs’ den in the distance. The sound of dead leaves crunching let him know he was still being chased. The pain stung under his pelt as he ran, slowing him down before he could get a good distance between him and the creature. As the situation sunk in, Rusty realized it would be more likely that he would be tackled again before he made it back over the fence. So instead of continuing to run, he spun around to face the animal that was attacking him.

His eyes widened when he realized he was fighting another kitten not much older or younger than himself; a shaggy gray tom, with strong limbs under his thick fur despite his young age. Rusty’s sudden stop took the other tom off guard, suddenly toppling him over before he could skid to a stop. The house cat let out a string of hisses and growls as he struggled once again underneath the mess of the other kitten’s fur. But to his surprise, his attacker didn’t continue to claw at him. And once Rusty stopped writhing about, he noticed the other cat was calmly washing his forepaw as he pinned him underneath his weight. “Uh… excuse me?” the orange cat started to say, still tense. “Could you maybe get off of me?” The strange cat rolled his eyes as if Rusty’s request was a bother. “Okay I guess,” he replied as he stepped off of the other cat. “But if you think about attacking me again, I’ll send you home to your Twoleg den with your pelt inside out.”

Rusty couldn’t help but think about what Smudge had told him. Was this one of the wildcats who could cut through trees with their claws? He doubted it. “Who are you anyways?” he asked the gray cat.

He laughed under his breath. “I should be asking you the same thing. You are an intruder on ThunderClan territory,” the other tom said, continuing to rasp at the grass clinging to his wild fur. He paused. “But to answer your question, I’m Graypaw. You fight pretty good for a tame kitty.” Thunder-whatnow? Rusty didn’t know that the forest apparently belonged to someone.

“That’s a strange name,” Rusty said bluntly, the bitterness in his voice still present. Graypaw’s pelt bristled in annoyance. “Oh yeah? And what’s your name? Fluffy or something? Twolegs give you all weird names, Clan names have honor!” he huffed.

“It’s not Fluffy, it’s Rusty,” he growled back.

Graypaw puffed out his chest fur with a smug smirk. “See, what a weird name.” He gave a dismissive shake of his head. “Anyways, now that I know you’re not from the other Clans, you can run along to your Twoleg den. You’re lucky I’m not a ShadowClan cat, you’d have more than just a couple of scratches.”

Rusty raised a brow. “Other Clans?” he echoed. “There’s more of you?”

Graypaw gave an impatient hiss. “You’ve seriously never heard of the four Clans that live in this forest? For StarClan’s sake, you really are a sheltered Denpet aren’t you?” The orange tom opened his mouth to respond, but the other cat cut him off. “There’s ShadowClan, WindClan, RiverClan, and most importantly, ThunderClan - that’s the Clan I’m training to be a warrior in. We have to compete for prey to survive! So it’s our job to keep other Clans off our territory!”

He was dumping so much information on him, Rusty couldn’t help but have a confused expression on his face. “But if your life is so difficult, why don’t you just find a Twoleg to take care of you?” he meowed. “If you sit by the fence and look hungry, they’d take you in-”

Graypaw let out an incredulous squawk in response. “I’d rather die than become a Denpet! Your food looks like rabbit droppings and smelly sludge, and you can’t go outside unless your precious Twoleg lets you!” he spat. “Being a warrior is being free. You aren’t some Twoleg’s toy like you are.” Once he was done with his speech, he let out a mischievous mew. “I bet you haven’t even tasted a mouse, huh?”

The orange tom stiffened and then sighed. “No, I haven’t,” he sighed. “At least not yet.” The gray cat tutted. “Well I guess you’d never know what it’s like to truly live, Rusty. You haven’t got warrior blood; you weren’t born wild,” he said. “If you weren’t born in that Twoleg den of yours, you’d understand.” The house cat thought back on his dream and indignantly mewed: “Not true!”. Before he could get another word out, Graypaw’s suddenly bristled coat made him pause. The Clan cat lifted his nose to the air and his eyes widened. “You should go. ThunderClan cats are nearby… If they see you, they wouldn’t be happy about you hunting here.”

Rusty glanced around at the surrounding bushes. He didn’t know how Graypaw was aware of any approaching cats; to him, the crisp night air smelled just the same. But the other cat’s urgency made him nervous. When he didn’t move, Graypaw continued. “Run!” he hissed. But Rusty was frozen. He didn’t know which way to go, the wildcats could be all around!

But he was too late. The sound of shifting leaves from behind him made both Rusty and Graypaw whip their heads around. “What’s going on here?” an unfamiliar voice said as a figure shifted out from the greenery. The new-comming cat strolled majestically towards the two cats, her blue pointed fur glowing silver in the moonlight.

Graypaw immediately snapped to attention in the presence of the new cat. “B-Bluestar, I-” he started, cutting himself off to crouch respectfully in front of the cat, motioning Rusty to do the same. Then, another cat followed the first into the clearing. The large golden tabby glared down at the gray tom with cold eyes.

“Graypaw, what did I say about coming close to the Twolegplace?” the golden cat growled. “Your first night out of camp, and you already are causing trouble.” The gray cat’s ears flattened back against his head “I’m sorry, Lionheart. I just smelled something and I… I didn’t realize how close I was,” Graypaw meowed. The two larger cats’ eyes rested upon Rusty. Their gazes were cold. Threatening. Nothing like Graypaw.

The blue molly spoke first. “And who is this?” she asked. Rusty felt vulnerable under her blue stare. It pierced through him.

“Well I figured out he’s no threat,” the other young cat responded. “Just a Denpet, that’s all.” The orange cat felt anger rise in his pelt. He was sick of being referred to as that. He held his tongue, however. As much as he would like to shoot a retort. The molly’s eyes rested intently on him, noticing his irritation. “I’m Bluestar, young Denpet. And this is Graypaw’s mentor, Lionheart,” she said, motioning to the golden tabby with her slender tail. “She’s the Clan’s leader,” Graypaw hissed to Rusty under his breath.

Bluestar gave a pleased purr to Graypaw’s introduction. “Both of you, sit up,” she mewed. Her voice had softened slightly. “You fight well for a Twoleg pet.” Rusty looked to Graypaw with a confused expression. She eased his bewilderment quickly. “Lionheart and I were watching from the trees. We wanted to see how Graypaw would deal with an intruder without our intervention.” She gave the apprentice the smallest of smiles. “You attacked him bravely.” The gray cat beamed at the praise.

Her attention shifted back to the house cat. “I expected you to flee when you had the chance. I was shocked when you turned to fight, even when you knew he was stronger than you,” she began. The molly paused briefly. “You are an odd Denpet.” Rusty wasn’t sure whether he was supposed to be grateful for her backhanded approval. But he still gave a small nod of thanks. “I was waiting to see when you’d venture into the forest… I’ve often seen you sitting on the leafless trees by your Twolegs’ den,” Bluestar glanced down at Rusty with a thoughtful look. “Your youthful energy is on your side. Perhaps you might have caught that mouse if you didn’t hesitate.”

Rusty’s ears perked up. “R-really?” he asked nervously. She responded with a nod. Before she could get any words out, Lionheart jutted in. “Bluestar, please. This is a Denpet for StarClan’s sake. You can’t encourage him hunting in our territory.” His meow had respect but also intent. “You should just send him back to his den where he belongs.” The house cat’s pride fizzled out. “Please don’t send me back,” he pleaded. “I promise I’ll leave once I catch a mouse or two.”

Bluestar’s calm expression quickly turned to a furious one. “A mouse or two could mean life or death for our Clan!” she snapped, looming over the smaller cat. “Just because you get to eat your pellets whenever you want doesn’t mean there’s enough food to go around out here!” Rusty glanced over at Graypaw and saw the horror on his face. He quickly realized he had spoken out of line, but that didn’t mean the molly had to get so angry.

Fear set in once Lionheart stepped to his leader’s side, joining her in towering over the house cat. Perhaps being so comfortable with these wildcats was a bad idea… Perhaps… They were intent on finishing what Graypaw had started...

The blue molly’s face was barely a mouse-length from Rusty’s, and he felt his fur prickle with anxiety. “I’m sorry…” His voice trembled as he spoke. “I didn’t mean to threaten your Clan.” Bluestar’s anger was unrelenting. “You already have enough food! Why do you need to come into our territory and hunt?” Regret mixed with his fear as her words sunk it. She was right. He was hunting purely for sport. These cats needed all the food they could get. “I… I won’t hunt here again, I promise.”

Her bristled fur fell, and she gave a flick of her tail. Lionheart stepped back and stood next to his apprentice, who sighed with relief when the two older cats backed down. Bluestar and Lionheart’s eyes met, as if they were communicating something without words. Rusty felt curiosity bubbling within him. But he didn’t want to overstep and ask, risking Bluestar’s wrath again. “Is it really so hard to live out here?”

“Of course. We only have control over a portion of the forest,” the molly responded. “The Clans are always fighting for the small amount of resources we have. The forest is only so big.”

Rusty’s eyes widened. “Are there lots of cats in your Clan?” “There’s enough. ThunderClan is the smallest, though,” she said. “We have enough prey to go around, but none to spare at the end of the day.” The orange cat glanced at the three cats in front of him. “So are all of your Clan warriors like you?”

Lionheart interjected again. “Most are warriors. But others are too old, others are too young. And others choose not to hunt or fight, but help the Clan in other ways.” Rusty felt guilty asking so many questions, but so many thoughts raced through his mind upon encountering these strange cats. “So you all share your prey together?” He was beginning to realize how selfish his life was.

For a long moment, Bluestar and Lionheart’s eyes met once more. Then, after a few heartbeats, she turned back to Rusty with a calm smile. “Well, Rusty, you seem very interested in our way of life,” she meowed. “Perhaps you would be interested in coming to our camp. Would you like to join ThunderClan?”

He couldn’t speak. He was taken off guard by the molly’s proposition. She continued to speak: “If you choose to join us, you will be like Graypaw. You’ll train to become a warrior.”

“But!” Graypaw piped up. “A Denpet can’t be a warrior! He doesn’t have Clan blood!”

“Hush!” Bluestar hissed, flicking her tail at the apprentice.

“Graypaw, Willowpelt does not have Clan blood either, and she is a respectable warrior,” Lionheart spoke gently to his apprentice. The gray cat huffed in annoyance. “Yeah, well that’s different!” The golden tabby ignored his apprentice’s protests and addressed Rusty once more. “We can only offer you training, Denpet. If it is too difficult, we cannot keep you in our Clan.”

Rusty’s brows knitted together with concern. “But… Why ask me then? Why offer me the chance if you think I’ll fail?” he asked. Bluestar was the one to answer. “The truth is, young one, ThunderClan needs more warriors. Our Clan is doomed to be taken over if we cannot fight back,” she said quietly.

“Understand, Denpet, if you choose to join us, you must live like us. If not, you must return to your Twolegs and never return to the forest,” Lionheart told Rusty. “You cannot live with a paw in each world.” Bluestar gave a small nod of agreement. “Our Clan cannot guarantee you food or warmth like your Twolegs can. You will need to work hard to survive; be willing to risk your life for the good of your Clan,” she said. “But you will be a real cat, Denpet. You will know what it is like to be a part of something bigger… You’ll be free.”

Her offer was surreal. Rusty had dreamed about living such a life so many nights. The breeze ruffled his fluffy fear. He shuddered, not only from the cool wind, but because of the anticipation of what could lie ahead.

Lionheart suddenly interrupted his thoughts. “Bluestar. The gathering should be starting soon. We must return to camp,” he said with a flick of his tail. Bluestar glanced at the other warrior. “I wonder if Redtail and Tigerclaw have returned as well…” she muttered, mostly to herself.

Rusty perked up a little. “Wait a minute! Can I think about your offer… Please.”

Bluestar hummed in thought for a moment. “Lionheart will meet you here at Dawn. You can give him your answer then,” she said with a nod. And with that, her tail gave a strange signal, and the three cats disappeared into the underbrush without another word.

He blinked, taking him a few moments to realize they were gone. He stared from the bushes up at the stars, glittering brightly through the canopy of leaves above. Rusty’s ears pricked to the sudden shout of his name, reminding him of where he had to return to. Even if he knew he needed to go back… Something seemed to pull him back, deeper into the forest towards the life he could have.

#warrior cats #warrior cats rewrite #into the wild

11 notes · View notes

celestialvoid-fanfiction · 4 years

Text

You found me at my lowest, when I needed you the most

There haven’t been wolves in Beacon Hills for sixty years, but Stiles finds one; a lone, feral wolf, injured and in need of help.

For @masterpostsmakemehappy

(Read it on AO3 here)

The wolf clung to the shadows as he wove through the undergrowth, limping as he dragged his wounded leg behind him. His thick black fur was slick with blood; ruby-red droplets falling among the dry autumn leaves.

Searing pain overwhelmed him, his mind growing foggy as he collapsed to the ground. He fell onto the cushion of damp leaves and piles of rotting flesh which littered the forest floor.

He lifted his head, looking around at the forest. The usual autumn tones of brown, gold and red were darkened by the night, now a dreary mix of greys and heavy black shadows. Dense foliage hung overhead, filtered streams of silver light surrounded him seeping through the canopy and dancing across the ground.

Among the darkness he could make out the fluorescent bleached skeletons of the birch trees, their slender trunks lining the shadows as eye-like rings watched him from all angles.

His eyes grew heavy, his head resting against the twisted root of a large stump of an ancient tree that looked as if it had been cut down decades ago, the cracks and crevices full of moss and twiggy shrubs.

He felt so weak, so cold.

He let his eyes fall shut, his body weakening as the darkness crept in, pulling him down into oblivion.

...

Stiles felt the cool autumn air bite at his cheeks as he buried his hands in the pockets of his jacket. He dragged his feet through the dew-dampened grass as he stepped out of the parking lot of the reserve and passed the metal railings that fenced it off, glistening with crystal-like droplets of water that clung to them as they caught the light of the rising sun.

He wandered down the track that wove through the woods on the outskirts of town.

He just needed a moment to get away from it all; he just needed a moment to himself.

He breathed in the sweet scent of the damp earth, walking further and further into the reserve.

It looked different in the fall. The grass was brown and dying, the wild flowers had wilted, and the trees were stripped of their leaves, covering the ground in a blanket of brown, yellow, red and gold. It was different, but still beautiful.

He came upon a small clearing, his feet falling still as his eyes fell upon the large tree stump in the centre of the open space. He’d walked the same path almost every day for years, but he had never seen it before.

The stump looked to be centuries old, but felled a long time ago. The twisted roots were buried deep in the ground, cracks and crevices of the aged bark were filled with green moss. Small brushes grew between the roots, their branches bare, twisted, wiry and dry.

But it was what lay among the roots that made his blood run cold in his veins.

The dark shape lay still, its body cradled in the curve of the twisted roots. The thick black fur was matted and damp from the morning dew.

Stiles took a step forward, cautiously edging closer to the figure to get a closer look and confirm his suspicions; it was a wolf.

“Why didn’t you find a den?” Stiles whispered, more so to himself than the wolf. “And what are you doing here?”

He knelt down on the blanket of damp, decaying leaves and watched as the wolf’s chest rose and fell with weak breaths.

He’s still alive, Stiles thought, breathing out a sigh of relief.

His eyes were drawn to the wolf’s hind leg where his ash-black fur was darker than the rest of his body, clumped together and stained with a slick substance.

Stiles carefully reached out, touching his fingertips to the wolf’s wet fur. They came away slick. He slowly turned his hand around to look at his fingers.

Red.

Blood.

Stiles’ eyes flew open wide. He wiped his hand on his jeans and reached into his jacket pocket, pulling out his phone as he scrolled through his contacts and pressed ‘call’.

“Come on, come on, come on,” Stiles muttered impatiently.

Scott answered on the fourth ring, his voice slow and lethargic. “Stiles? Do you know what time it is?”

“I need your help,” Stiles said hastily. “This is going to sound insane but there’s an injured wolf in the reserve.”

“Stiles, there aren’t any wolves in Beacon Hills,” Scott replied. “It’s probably a stray dog.”

“I know there aren’t any wolves in Beacon Hills, and there hasn’t been for over sixty years, but I’m telling you, I’m looking at one right now and he’s hurt,” Stiles snapped, growing impatient. “He needs help. Scott, please.”

Scott let out an impatient sigh. Stiles heard him shuffling about, shoving back the blankets and getting out of bed. “What do you mean he’s hurt?”

“His leg’s bleeding,” Stiles replied. “It looks like he’s been in a fight, or shot, or maybe he stepped in a fox trap or something—I don’t know. The important thing to note is that he’s bleeding heavily and he’s not moving.”

“Is it alive?”

“He’s breathing,” Stiles answered. “But he’s asleep.”

“Okay, I’ll come to the reserve and help you move him,” Scott said. “I’ll call Deaton and let him know we’re bringing in a—”

“A wolf,” Stiles confirmed.

“—a wolf,” Scott conceded. “I’ll be here in a few minutes. Call me if he wakes up in the meantime.”

“Okay,” Stiles agreed. He felt the knot of tension in his chest subside a bit, his voice softening as he added, “Scotty?”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you.”

“I’ll see you soon,” Scott said before hanging up.

Stiles slid the phone back into his jacket pocket and sat down beside the wolf. He let out a steady breath, slowly reaching out and set his hand down on the wolf’s side. He felt his hand rise and fall with the slow, steady breaths.

The wolf’s ears twitched slightly, but his eyes didn’t open.

“I don’t know if you can hear me,” Stiles said softly, threading his fingers through the wolf’s soft, damp fur, “but if you can, I’m going to get you help.”

There was a loud crack as a stick broke underfoot behind him.

Stiles spun around, his eyes wide as he searched the woods that were lit by the dim morning light.

The footsteps grew louder, closer, moving faster among the underbrush.

Stiles rose to his feet, standing defensively over the wolf as he searched the shadows.

A familiar face appeared from among the trees.

Stiles let out a sigh of relief as Scott stepped into the clearing, a satchel slung over one shoulder as he hurried over to Stiles’ side.

“How is he?” Scott asked, shrugging off the satchel and setting it down by the twisted roots.

“He still hasn’t woken up,” Stiles replied.

Scott took a quick look at the wound. He dug through his bag and pulled out wadding and bandages, packing the wound the best he could.

“Okay, help me carry him out of here,” Scott said, moving to lift the wolf off the ground. “Did you drive here?”

“No, I walked,” Stiles answered.

“Okay, we’ll take my car,” Scott said. He laid a large sheet across the forest floor. “Help me lift him onto the sheet and we’ll use it as a stretcher to carry him out of here.”

Stiles helped Scott move the wolf.

“God, you’re heavy,” Stiles grunted as they lifted the wolf off the blanket of damp leaves and onto the sheet.

They carried the wolf out of the woods and into the parking lot. They set him down for a moment so Scott could open the back of the four wheel drive.

“Climb in the back and we’ll lift him up,” Scott instructed.

“Wait, why am I getting in the back?”

“Because I need you to sit with him and tell me if there’s any change in his condition,” Scott answered.

“Wouldn’t it be better if you did and I drove?” Stiles asked. “I mean, if something changes, you could do something about it.”

Scott levelled him with an exasperated look. “Just get in the car.”

“Okay.”

Stiles clambered into the back of the four wheel drive, helping Scott lift the wolf into the back of the car and laying him down on the blankets Scott had laid out. He positioned himself near the wolf’s head, gently petting his scruff.

Scott closed the door and hurried around the car to the driver’s seat, starting the engine and reversing out of the parking lot.

“It’s going to be okay,” Stiles whispered, gently patting the wolf.

The wolf’s ears twitched slightly; listening.

“You’re going to be okay, I promise.”

...

Stiles stood in the corner of the operating room, shifting nervously from foot to foot. He swallowed hard against the lump in his throat, trying to ignore the bitter, metallic smell of blood that filled his senses. He’d cast a few glances at where Scott and Deaton stood by the operating table, watching as the vet stitched up the wound.

They’d decided against putting him under anaesthesia; the wolf was already unconscious and unresponsive and in such a fragile state that he may not have woken up after surgery.

Stiles watched as the wolf lay still, his chest rising and falling with steady breaths.

“All done,” Deaton said, setting down his tools and reaching for a bandage.

A patch of his raven-black fur had been shaved off, exposing his pale skin and the line of stitches that marked where they’d operated.

Deaton tenderly wrapped the bandage around his leg.

“What was wrong with him?” Stiles asked, taking a step closer.

“He was shot,” Deaton answered. “The bullet went through and through. He’s lucky it didn’t hit the bone; it would’ve broken his leg and he wouldn’t have gotten away from whoever shot him.”

Deaton looked over at Stiles.

“He’s lucky you found him when you did,” Deaton said. “He wouldn’t have survived if you hadn’t.”

Without warning, the wolf bolted upright with a start. He scrambled to his feet, standing atop the operating table and towering over them. He raised his hackles and pinned back his ears, baring his ivory-white teeth in a vicious snarl. He snapped at Deaton and Scott, letting out a low threatening growl as his pale green eyes darted around the room.

“Stay back,” Deaton warned, trying to keep his voice calm and level. “Scott, get the ketamine.”

Scott moved slowly, edging towards the table with his equipment on it.

The wolf whipped his head around, growling at him.

“Whoa,” Stiles said, taking a step towards his friend defensively.

The wolf turned to look at him, his growl dying away, but his lips still pulled back in a snarl.

“Easy,” Stiles said softly, taking another step towards the wolf. He kept his hands up as he edged closer to the canine. “No one’s going to hurt you. You’re safe here.”

The wolf snapped at him.

Stiles staggered back, his eyes still focused on the wolf; startled but not scared.

“We’re just trying to help you,” Stiles continued.

“You do realise he can’t understand you, right?” Scott said between gritted teeth, making another attempt to subtly reach for the ketamine.

The wolf turned on him, letting out a fierce growl.

Scott backed up, the cold metal edges of the shelving digging into his back as he tried to get as far away as he could.

Stiles took another step forward.

The wolf turned to face him, teeth bared and his eyes glaring at Stiles intensely.

Stiles held his composure, his pulse drumming in his ears and his heart hammering against his ribs.

“It’s okay,” Stiles said, his voice soft. “No one’s going to hurt you.”

The wolf seemed to calm down, straightening his back and raising his ears. He tilted his head slightly, looking at Stiles with curiosity.

Stiles took another step forward, tentatively holding out a hand the way you would to a strange dog.

The wolf sniffed his hand, and – apparently deciding Stiles wasn’t a threat – calmed down. He laid down on the table, resting his head on his front paws as Stiles took another step forward and gently petted the scruff of his neck.

The three of them let out a collective sigh of relief, the tension in the room subsiding as Scott and Deaton watched Stiles pat the wolf.

“Crisis averted,” Deaton started slowly. “Now, onto our next problem.”

“What’s that?” Stiles asked, his heart spiking slightly.

“We don’t have any cages to hold an animal of his size, nor do we have a dog run that we can hold him in,” Deaton said. “But in his state, we can’t release him into the wild yet.”

“I have a dog run,” Stiles volunteered. “My dad used to foster dogs for the K9 unit or retiring army dogs.”

Deaton nodded, watching the way the teen interacted with the canine.

“He seems to have taken a liking to you,” Deaton said. “Perhaps it would be best if you took him in while he recovers.”

“One problem,” Stiles said. “My dad wouldn’t let me have a dog, what makes you think he’ll let me have a wolf?”

...

Stiles sat in the back seat of the car, looking into the back of the four wheel drive where the wolf laid, his head lifted and looking out the window; alert. They’d loosely tied a length of rope around the wolf’s neck and fastened to the back of the car.

Deaton had spoken to the Sheriff and he had agreed to let Stiles bring the wolf home and keep him in the dog run while he recovered.

The car slowed as it pulled up before Stiles’ house.

The wolf perked up, struggling to his feet as he looked out the rear windows.

Scott turned off the engine and climbed out of the car. Stiles followed. They stepped around to the back of the car and opened the back doors.

Stiles untied the rope, gently coaxing the wolf out of the car and onto the pavement. He walked him around to the back gate, pulling up the latch and pushing it open. He led the wolf into the backyard and over to the large fenced off dog run in the corner of the yard.

There was a large kennel in the corner with an old blanket laid across the bottom of it, a sheltered section, a bowl full of water, some trees and shrubs, and a few old dog toys.

Stiles walked the wolf into the dog run, kneeling before him as he untied the length of rope from around his neck. He stepped out of the run and shut the gate, watching as the wolf began to pace around the length of the fence, limping slightly as he inspected his surroundings.

“I’ll buy some food for him – meat, fish, rabbit if I’m lucky – and drop it off after work,” Scott told him.

Stiles nodded, his eyes focused on the wolf and his mind racing.

“What?” Scott asked.

“Wolves are social animals,” Stiles reminded him. “So why was he alone? Where’s his pack?”

“I don’t know,” Scott said quietly. He was silent for a moment. “I’d better get going. You all set?”

“Yeah,” Stiles replied.

Scott patted his shoulder.

“Let me know if anything changes. I’ll see you later,” he farewelled, making his way back out the side gate and shutting it behind himself.

Once he was gone, the wolf seemed to settle—still uneasy, but not pacing. He slowly wandered over to where Stiles stood and looked up at him with inquisitive green eyes.

“There’s something strange about you,” Stiles mused. “I just can’t put my finger on it.”

Stiles backed up, heading towards the back door and making his way inside the house.

...

The light of day began to fade, the sun lighting the sky with streaks of vibrant colours as it sank beneath the horizon. The icy chill of the autumn breeze rolled through the streets, rustling the trees, stirring the leaves, and frosting over the windows.

The Sheriff was working late; he’d sent Stiles a message saying he was pulling overtime to help with a case and wouldn’t be home until the morning.

Stiles looked at the back door, watching as the window pane misted over. His thoughts drifted to the wolf; he was out there, alone and cold.

“No,” he told himself. “Dad will kill me.”

His eyes wandered back to the door.

He let out a heavy sigh, cursing under his breath as he rose to his feet and headed towards the back door. He grabbed the length of rope from where he’d put it earlier, shoving open the back door and making his way out to the dog run.

The dim light from the back porch lit the yard, stretching as far into the darkness as it could.

The chain link fence rattled as he pulled open the gate, stepping into the run and looking around.

Stiles looked about, trying to find the wolf. He took a few cautious steps forward, craning his neck to look inside the kennel.

There was a low growl, deep and threatening. The light caught the canine’s eyes, making them glow. His lips were curled back, exposing his ivory-white teeth.

“Easy boy,” Stiles said softly, crouching down on the damp grass. “I’m gonna take you inside where it’s warm, okay?”

The growl died away, but the wolf didn’t come out of the kennel.

“Come on, man,” Stiles pleaded. “It’s freezing out here.”

The wolf tentatively stepped forward, looking at Stiles with scepticism.

Stiles looked down at the length of rope in his hands and then back up at the wolf, watching as the creature’s eyes darted back and forth between Stiles and the rope.

“Okay, fine. You don’t have to put the rope on,” Stiles bargained, rising to his feet. “Come on.”

Stiles made his way out of the dog run, leaving the gate open as he led the way to the back porch and up the couple of steps to the back door.

The wolf lingered behind, taking a few steps at a time—cautious. Finally, he gathered the courage to follow Stiles, crossing the back yard and making his way up the steps.

Stiles opened the back door and the wolf stepped inside the house, shaking off the cold dampness of the night air.

“Okay, if you’re going to stay inside, we’re going to have to lay down some ground rules,” Stiles said, looking the wolf in the eye. “Rule number one: don’t chew on the furniture—my dad would kill me if he came home to half eaten chairs and shredded cushions. Rule number two: no peeing on anything. Rule number three: you’re not allowed up on the furniture. And rule number four: upstairs is out of bounds; you have free roam of downstairs, but you’re not allowed upstairs, okay?”

The wolf tilted its head.

“In good faith, I’m just going to assume that you understood me,” Stiles said, stepping past the wolf. “I’m heading off to bed,” he said, switching off the lights. “Please, just… don’t destroy anything while I’m asleep.”

The wolf stayed where he was by the back door.

“Okay,” Stiles said, shifting awkwardly. “Well… Goodnight.”

Stiles made his way upstairs and into his room, leaving the door ajar as he changed out of his clothes and into his pyjamas. He crawled into bed, pulled the blanket up over his shoulders, and reached for the light switch beside his bed when he heard the sound of paws padding at the stairs, growing closer.

“No,” Stiles said warningly.

He rolled over in his bed, watching as the large silhouette of the wolf crept into the opening of his bedroom door, the light reflecting in his eyes as he narrowed his gaze on Stiles.

“That’s terrifying,” Stiles told him, trying to settle his racing heartbeat. “I’m going to have nightmares now.”

The wolf stepped over to the side of his bed, resting his head on the edge of the mattress, almost as if he were asking for permission.

“No,” Stiles said firmly.

The wolf let out a heavy huff, a quiet whimper catching in his throat.

“Ugh, fine,” Stiles relented. “Come on.”

The wolf climbed up onto the bed, curling up at Stiles’ feet and looking at him with bright aventurine eyes.

“What?” Stiles asked, looking the wolf in the eye. “Penny for my thoughts?”

The wolf tilted his head to one side, his ears perking up with curiosity.

“I’m sorry,” Stiles sighed, his voice quiet as he dropped his gaze. “I haven’t been myself lately. I’ve been so caught up in my head, trying to work things out.”

The wolf looked at him, listening.

“I’m bisexual,” Stiles said outright. “I haven’t told anyone—I don’t know how to—and I’m… I’m scared to.”

Stiles let out a dejected sigh, bowing his head.

“What’s more… I’m lonely,” he said quietly. “I mean, I have my dad and Scott, but they’re always busy. I end up spending so much time alone and it just reminds me of how lonely I am. Especially when it’s because of a date; it’s just a reminder that I don’t have someone like that in my life. Being bisexual, you’d think I’d have twice the odds, but apparently not… No one wants me.”

The wolf let out a sigh, laying down on the bed and resting his head beside Stiles’ hand.

Stiles reached out and gently petted his head.

“I guess you and I are two of a kind, huh?” Stiles mused. “We’re not meant to be alone, and yet here we are.”

The wolf shifted his head, letting it rest in Stiles’ lap.

A soft smile turned up the corners of Stiles’ lips as he ran his fingers through the wolf’s soft fur. He lay back against his pillows, switching off the light beside his bed and slipping into sleep.

...

A broken cry startled him awake.

The wolf sat upright, listening as the quiet, strained whimper filled the darkness.

Stiles thrashed about, his body entangled in his blankets, his cheeks dampened by tears, and his heart hammering against his ribs.

The wolf shuffled forward, resting his head on the boy’s chest.

Stiles started to settle, the tension easing from his body. His breathing slowed and his racing heartbeat calmed down; steady.

He stayed there, watching Stiles for a little while longer; guarding him, protecting him.

He let out a heavy sigh. His eyes grew heavy as he let them fall shut and sleep pulled him under.

...

Stiles groaned, squinting against the glaring light which streamed through the gap in the curtains. He turned his face into the pillow, letting the soft cotton muffle his groan.

He tried to pull the blanket up over himself but it wouldn’t budge. He tugged harder, only to get a disgruntled huff in response.

He blinked open his eyes, looking at the dark figure that laid its head atop of his chest.

The wolf slowly lifted his head, glaring at Stiles disapprovingly.

“I’m sorry. Did I interrupt your beauty sleep?” Stiles said teasingly.

The wolf let out a heavy sigh and seemed to roll his eyes. He turned his head away and yawned before stretching, his paws flexing and kneading the blanket.

Stiles pushed back the blanket and climbed out of bed. He stepped over to his closet, pulling out a pair of jeans, a shirt and a red hoodie. He pulled his jeans on and reached for the hem of his shirt when he froze. He glanced over his shoulder at the wolf.

“I know you’re a wolf and all, but can you not watch me get changed?” Stiles asked.

The wolf let out a huff and turned his head away, letting it rest atop his front paws as he stared out the window.

Stiles got changed quickly and made a start towards the door.

“Come on,” he said softly.

The wolf followed him, climbing down from the bed. He let out a quiet whimper as he set down his wounded leg.

“Are you okay?” Stiles asked, slightly panicked. “Does it hurt? Do I need to call Scott?”

The wolf levelled him with an exasperated look, stretching his leg slightly and testing how much weight it could bare. He took a few steps forward, limping slightly as but showing no sign of pain.

“Okay,” Stiles said, leading the way to the door.

He headed downstairs, watching as the wolf carefully padded his way down behind him. He stepped through the large open doorway that led to the dining room, looking through the other doorway into the kitchen.

The Sheriff heard his footsteps, turning to look at his son. His weary hazel eyes fell upon the dark figure that followed Stiles.

“What the—?” the Sheriff yelped.

The wolf bounded forward, putting himself between Stiles and the Sheriff. He let out a feral growl, baring his teeth in a vicious snarl as he readied himself to fight.

“Whoa,” Stiles shouted, stepping between the two of them. He lowered his voice to a quiet whisper. “It’s okay.”

They waited for the wolf to calm down, straightening his back and standing proud.

“I thought you said he’d be in the dog run,” his dad said, voice tense.

“It got cold,” Stiles offered sheepishly.

“He’s a wolf, Stiles,” his father replied. “He’s used to the elements.”

“But he’s injured,” Stiles added.

Sheriff Stilinski let out an exasperated groan and dragged his hand down his weary face. “I should have known you’d bring him home with a bleeding heart.”

The Sheriff shook his head.

“How long did Deaton say it would take for him to heal?” the Sheriff asked.

“A few weeks.”

“He can’t stay inside, Stiles,” his dad said softly. “He’s not domesticated and he needs to keep up his natural instincts.”

“I know,” Stiles said quietly, bowing his head.

The Sheriff let out a heavy sigh.

“I’ll make a deal with you,” he offered. “He can stay inside on cold nights, but he stays out in the dog run the rest of the time, deal?”

“Deal,” Stiles agreed.

...

A few weeks passed.

The wolf spent most nights curled up on the floor beside Stiles’ bed or at his feet. He would sit and listen as Stiles opened up and told him his secrets, and he would comfort him whenever the young man was troubled by nightmares.

But finally the day came that the wolf had to be released.

Scott removed the stitches and checked the canine over.

“He’s in perfect condition,” Scott said proudly.

Stiles nodded solemnly.

“Come on, boy,” Stiles said, tying the old length of rope around the wolf’s neck and leading him out to Scott’s four wheel drive.

He encouraged the wolf into the back, tying off the rope before stepping around the side of the car and climbing into the back seat.

They drove out to the reserve.

Stiles let out a saddened sigh as he untied the rope from the wolf’s neck and stepped back.

The wolf climbed out of the car, lingering for a moment before stepping into the woods and disappearing.

Stiles watched him go, his heart aching as the dark silhouette disappeared into the trees.

Scott gently patted Stiles’ shoulder, not saying a word as they climbed back into the car and drove home.

Stiles nudged open the front door, shutting it behind himself and dropping his keys on the table by the door.

A loud bark broke the silence.

Stiles jumped, his heart leaping into his throat. He followed the sound down the hallway and pushed opened the back door, stepping out onto the porch as he looked at the dark figure that stood in his backyard watching him with bright green eyes.

The wolf.

“You can’t be here, bud,” Stiles said, his heart aching. “You have to go.”

The wolf stepped forward, his body changing as he moved; he rose onto his hind legs, his dark fur morphing into tan skin as he stood tall.

He stood before Stiles; a man with thick black hair and a soft beard that cast a shadow across his jaw. His pale aventurine eyes were focused on Stiles, the light of the evening playing in his irises, changing them from green to blue and hazel. There was a pale scar across his leg.

He was human.

Stiles swallowed hard. “You’re, um…”

“A werewolf,” the man confirmed.

“I was going to say ‘naked’, but yeah. Hang on.”

Stiles raced inside and came back out with a change of clothes. He tossed them to the man.

“Thank you,” the man said quietly, dressing quickly. “I just wanted to say thank you.”

“It was Scott and Deaton who patched you up,” Stiles said.

“Perhaps, but it was you who found me, who refused to give up on me, who looked after me,” the man replied. “You helped me remember how to be human.”

“What do you mean helped you remember?” Stiles asked.

“A long time ago, I shifted and ran as far away as I could,” the man explained. “I spent so long shifted, though, that I forgot how to change back.”

The man bowed his head for a second.

“I was running for so long, I forgot what it felt like to be human. You reminded me what that felt like.”

“Wait, does that mean that you understood everything I said?” Stiles asked, a hint of panic in his voice. “Everything I told you?”

The man nodded.

“Oh,” Stiles said, an uneasy feeling of embarrassment settling in to his chest.

“You said it yourself,” the man said, taking a step forward. “We’re two of a kind. We’re not meant to be alone, and yet here we are.”

“Here we are,” Stiles repeated quietly.

Stiles drew in a deep breath, summoning up the last flicker of courage he had.

“I don’t want you to go,” Stiles admitted. “You were the first person I ever felt like I could talk to, the first person I felt comfortable enough to be myself around. I don’t want you to go.”

“I don’t want to go,” the man admitted.

Stiles met his gaze.

“I’m Derek,” he introduced himself.

“It’s nice to meet you, Derek.”

80 notes · View notes