01-05-2008, 12:45 AM
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For Kansas! And many, many, many apologies for quality and timeliness. I still owe you that table. (Maybe two, now. ^^  New places. Always, new places. She had lived years in them, shifted with the variance of days or hours as the mood took her, and somehow she’d found herself here, in a land whose very name was branded with bad luck. Bleeding Souls. Surely she wasn’t one such individual? Ah, not entirely true, not any longer. Luz’s heart had been touched, and thieved from under her sternum when she was busying herself amid gold-green pleasances in gold-green eyes. How safe she’d felt, before! How silly she had been, believing her heart to be on loan to wind and impulse. No longer. Strangers would not be able to tell; the she-wolf was oh so certain of this. Her symptoms were self-contained, reserved for the cobweb-rooms of the heart, where though the corners were folded over with invitation, the beds were never slept in. Nostalgia, it seemed, was sewn in with the season. The lower the temperature stooped, the more her caprice insisted she step out into places already visited, take second-looks at things she’d not always intended to see again. To Storm, it was. The first pack, besides that she’d been born into, which she’d called home. The travel-itch had found her there, too, and sent her running with good-byes unsaid. Little matter. She could not apologize for what she would not be willed to do; yet all the same, she felt apprehension at her heels, as well as accidental love from burrs, who’d seen a season of frost and frigid air out only be to be loosed by an errant heel. The border smacked with foreboding. She lived somewhere else, owed other allegiances. Too strange for words, to be standing here, at a crossroads she’d chosed before the trail doubled back! Too odd to be Luz Cresceno on days when she wasn’t her customary self. Yet, c’est le vie. With slanted hips, and a werewolf-hand on the higher of the two sides, she regarded the terrible loveliness of the river. A rock, at last enacting a shift that had been on schedule for weeks or months or minutes, tumbled off another stone without the least second of warning. The effect? Nothing devastating, save some small amount of splash making it’s way to Luz Cresceno’s calf. “Riveting,” she remarked, with only scant traces of sarcasm. |