his hands matched his tongue

Levent Kartal · 03-10-2012, 10:42 PM

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The night was saturated with stars and a low-hung moon, the luminescence akin to winter sunlight as it washed the world in silver glow. Such a beautiful and bright night was rare, something to be tasted and savored, and Levent took full advantage of it. He settled on his back in the dark cold grass, his arms tucked behind his head, his blizzard blue eyes surveying the star-stained sky as he picked out all the unfamiliar constellations of the land. There was no doubt in his mind about coming here anymore, despite the need to sever his times with home. Immortality could be achieved here; he could feel the power of this land sliding over his skin and making him shudder. He had never felt so close to the god in Europe, other than the raving days in the dank room where the stranger fed him drugs.

Such thoughts might have made him uncomfortable and restless, but he closed his eyes for a moment’s eternity and let his mind settle. He had nothing to fear: no retaliation and no judgment and no guilt. He was free in a way he never thought he’d be.

And for once, the wolf did not have the cat at his side. It was not for any serious reason, no quarrel or disaster, but by mutual and silent choice. Wilson had padded out into the starlight from a grove of trees, and sat beside him—and opened his mouth several times as if to speak, his eyes aglow. In the end, the tom had swallowed whatever words he might have spoken and slunk back to the trees again, perhaps to hunt. The man might have feared for him and insisted he stay close by, or chased after him—but he was at peace right now. His friend could take care of himself.

Levent exhaled, his breath a silver mist under the March moon.

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