His head was killing him and he was so utterly, desolate and confused. He knew he wanted Othello, and standing her with her breath clogging his nostrils, her beauty about him it was hard to to think of anything other then her. Yet he knew he still loved Sibelle and he thought of all the trials that he and his mate had gone through together. His heart felt hollow and cold at what this would do to her. He had never wanted to hurt for her, had believed that he would always fight for her, always try and carve a life for them in this world. How could it be that he was so utterly split, that he wanted desperately two separate things, he wanted Othello, and Sibelle, but knew also that he could never have them both.
He hung his head and cursed his heart, thought himself fickle and untrustworthy, if it could love so fiercely, and so freely like this. He was lost, and Othello's words echoed that lost as she told him she could not break his family. He parted his lips, attempting to find speech, to say something meaningful, something that would make all this ok.
Then... she was gone, like a ghost against the snow she would tear away from him and be lost from his world as she vanished in the night after the howl of someone who always seemed to bring her away from him. His heart broke a little in his chest as he watched her vanish amidst the snow that had never ceased its falling. Her scent began to bury beneath the white flakes as they fell stronger and heavier, until he felt that he too might be buried amidst them. He whimpered softly, the sound of confusion from his heart before he the snow from his head, even as his body heated melted it against him. He was drenched and freezing, a fitting punishment for the havoc he was about to cause. He stood there a while longer, until there was not a single trace of her to tell him this had happened, to prove she had actually been here at all. But he felt it in his trembling heart as slowly, painfully he unburied his legs, stamped off as much of the snow as he could and moved through the pack, attempting to follow familiar pasts despite the white landscape and confusion of the falling snow. He moved back towards the tree line, huddling beneath the leaves for a semblance of protection from the snow. He hesitant, uncertain if he wanted to call Sibelle out into this light snowstorm, but sighed, and decided waiting for the snow to stop was a silly excuse for delaying this. He lifted his head and howled for her, knowing he would have to explain it all – the snow had wiped away all traces of her scent off his land and coat.
"Speech"
|
