I should stay here.
I don’t owe them anything. Least of all her.
Especiallynot her.
I exiled myself for a reason. I chose silence. Chose to live in the dark and eat meat raw when the fire won’t catch. To stitch my own wounds. To forget the names of the ones I failed.
So why am I pacing?
Why won’t my muscles settle?
The wind howls louder. I turn from the cliff and stalk back inside, trying to bury the thought in movement. I toss more dried root into the fire. The flames hiss up again. The shadows deepen.
I force myself to sit.
Hands on knees.
Breathe in.
Hold.
Out.
Again.
But it’s no use. My claws twitch. My horns throb with the storm pressure. I keep seeing her face, over and over, like some fever-loop I can’t wake from.
She didn’t flinch.
That’s what stays with me.
She looked at me like Iwasn’ta monster.
No fear. Just… understanding. Or the start of it.
And that’s the trap, isn’t it?
That’s what gets men killed. That moment where you start tohopesomeone might see you and not what you’ve done.
But it’s not real.
Hope is a blade you press to your own throat and pretend it’s a gift.
I snatch the knife up again, nearly cracking the whetstone in half as I pull it across the edge with too much force.
What the hell am I doing?
If the sting tails come, they come. If the humans die, they die. The galaxy spins on.
But if Idon’tgo…
And she dies…
I’ll see her face again.
Every night. For the rest of my life.
Just like the others.
