she cirlces the place, an open spot in the middle of the woods on the mountain; a boulder is placed in the middle as if made for this ritual. she is circling the big rock. ancient carvings tell a story of this ritual having been played before, where blood had flowed from sacrifice. but she is not out for blood, or is she? something between her fangs once belonged to a human body, an arm, the left one. she was not out for blood, she just dealt justice from her deck of cards. the kill had been easy, she had simply smelled out the white curve of the neck, the place where blood pulsates loudest, stronger than anywhere else in the body. blood smells for the kill.
she had howled at the moon for three long nights, questioned her to give her the answer. one night she revealed herself in her crescent shape among the branches of the oak trees. another she had dreamed of her masculine powers. the moon was neither woman nor man, she was both and none, or gave you what you needed when you needed it. so she had revealed the arrow and it had pointed toward justice. she had screamed and howled but now it was clear as night. so she made her way up the foothills of ash mountain.
first she had only smelled the earth and the rotten leaves. a trickle of water running from the summit telling of winter snow, of glaciers' ice. flowing down her throat it made her shiver and revived her resolve, strengthened it. so she went for the kill. the smell of blood led her to that white sinful neck and she bit and she mangled in a sudden frenzy. there was pleasure in it, too. and it was not that she had to die for her sins but for the ones they had all committed against each other, by being passive, by remaining mute, by not saving one another. and there was pity in this kill, pity for her who had just not known any better. but a beast knows none of this. it only knows what the moon tells her and that is her justice. she simply follows the orders of that heavenly body. and to bring proof she carries a part of her victim to the opening in the woods and places it upon the great stone, a hand pleading, the left one reaching to the heavens for forgiveness.
and the heavens, they grant it. and our beast the wolf may now wander the earth in peace. she may become the queen she had been destined to be. the old wolf lived now in the netherworld and it was ordained he would visit her on special days, visit her in the corner of her eye and fill her heart with warmth. in his world there was no more jealousy so he would be everywhere and love them all. they had been forgiven, all of them.
and she now was free.
