Howling in the moonlight..
Apr. 2nd, 2003 12:44 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
wolven7Love: A Parable.
He stalked through the shadows and light, prey on all sides, tempting. Tantalising in the mid-day. A glitterglisten softness Enticing the appetite... But it seemed to be something entirely Other, now. Something inside pained, though never quite guilt, feeling as if there had been a betrayal of their trust. No matter the words spoken, something He felt. There was a new meaning, to all of it, now that there had been found... Connected. Known.
Exultant, then, and free. Together, in mind, if not in body, running, pressing the wave of change and the All-Consuming Insight, further forward. And he dreamed, often, of running through Their Forest, together. Sometimes, they had wings. Fire, then, and destruction. The breath of the CorruptPure Fire.
A day, an afternoon, traveling home, a voice. A voice of his, theirs, everyone's.
"Hunt," the voice said, "after a fashion; but know where your true feasting lies. There is a nourishment for the body, the soul, and the slaked crimson thirst... Somewhere, waiting, there is all of that, together. Satisfaction. The others become a different kind of prey. They are, then, the fawn in the moonlight. Beautiful for her coming death...
"The words are yours, and what others may make of them are not yours to control."
And the Boy knew it was true.
Shadows, then, and light, in the scant rays of bitter effulgence. Waiting, then, and dreams of wings and fire. Of songs and screams. Those who would call had known, and that which would be made would be seen. That which was, then, prey, was nothing, now, more than meat. The symbols clash, and even the friends might not quite take the meaning.
Who knows.
(c)Damien Williams. All Rights Reserved.
He stalked through the shadows and light, prey on all sides, tempting. Tantalising in the mid-day. A glitterglisten softness Enticing the appetite... But it seemed to be something entirely Other, now. Something inside pained, though never quite guilt, feeling as if there had been a betrayal of their trust. No matter the words spoken, something He felt. There was a new meaning, to all of it, now that there had been found... Connected. Known.
Exultant, then, and free. Together, in mind, if not in body, running, pressing the wave of change and the All-Consuming Insight, further forward. And he dreamed, often, of running through Their Forest, together. Sometimes, they had wings. Fire, then, and destruction. The breath of the CorruptPure Fire.
A day, an afternoon, traveling home, a voice. A voice of his, theirs, everyone's.
"Hunt," the voice said, "after a fashion; but know where your true feasting lies. There is a nourishment for the body, the soul, and the slaked crimson thirst... Somewhere, waiting, there is all of that, together. Satisfaction. The others become a different kind of prey. They are, then, the fawn in the moonlight. Beautiful for her coming death...
"The words are yours, and what others may make of them are not yours to control."
And the Boy knew it was true.
Shadows, then, and light, in the scant rays of bitter effulgence. Waiting, then, and dreams of wings and fire. Of songs and screams. Those who would call had known, and that which would be made would be seen. That which was, then, prey, was nothing, now, more than meat. The symbols clash, and even the friends might not quite take the meaning.
Who knows.
(c)Damien Williams. All Rights Reserved.
