Orin was quiet as Terra walked over, her eyes watching intently as she so smoothly transformed and sat down on the stage next to her. For a moment Orin envied her this fluidity. Perhaps if she practiced more often she could achieve such grace while shifting, but the only time she seemed to take her Lupus form now was when she had young pups to care for. Otherwise, she found her humanoid shape to be more appealing. Oh, how she used to love running as a wolf… but running, that was too free of a thing to do these days. When you run your spirit soars, your heart sings, and right now Orin’s heart could make nothing but a broken note.
Her ears bent back with the weight of what Terra said, and at her prophetic words she glanced over her shoulder to peer at the expanse of bare stage. Who will step up next? She stared for a minute, then stood back up and walked upstage. Her ears were turned toward Terra, and a few beats after her words she replied, “I have a tale, it’s just no good.” She corrected softly, her back still facing Terra.
She stared down at her feet for a moment, and then focused on a random point on the back stage wall. “Mine is probably just like everyone else’s. Just a stupid girl hoping for too much from the world.” She moved forward again and slowly pressed a hand against the textured wall, running her fingers along it before turning around to face Terra again. “You know, once I… once I believed in knights and dragons and heroes and everything. I used to read a lot… read everyone’s tales… I loved them. I lived by them. I thought I’d met a great King, I thought I’d met a gallant knight, I thought I’d seen magic… But it’s all just illusions in the end. The King abandoned his people,” she finally admitted the truth about Jaq. “The knight, he was a good man but he did the same. And the magic, well that was just a child’s dream.”
“All there is to my story is tragedy. Violence, disappearance, and death. Destruction. That’s no story anyone wants to hear.” It was a funny thing that she said this now, yet the playwright Shakespeare had been one of her favorite imagineers. Most of his plays, and most of the great plays in general, ended in tragedy, and the people loved them for it. Had she not named her own daughters after such plays wrought with trickery and sadness? Yet still the connection was lost on her.
“I used to write, but I don’t bother anymore. It’s just a waste of the pack’s time, me with my head in the clouds,” she stared at the ground, and then slowly raised her gaze to meet Terra’s. She knew the Baroness, but this was their first true conversation of any depth, and here she was, just talking about herself. “But you… with your questions,” a genuine half smile was on her features, “does that mean you do have a tale?”
Photo courtesy of Alaskan Dude
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