Malrik
Raven is quiet now, sated from tonight’s run beneath the silver burn of the moon. His hunger has been tempered, but not his awareness. He lingers just beneath the surface, watchful, breathing with me, through me. I can feel him curled deep in my consciousness, relaxed but coiled, like a shadow ready to rise.
Yet I can't stop pacing, even with his calm pressing into my bones.
My boots drag over the wooden floor, each step echoing louder than it should. I don’t have anywhere to go, nothing I haven’t already done three times over tonight. Still, I circle the garage, I am attempting to clean, like prey being hunted by the very thoughts I refuse to speak aloud.
Raven stirs again. Why do you keep pacing, Rik? She’s ours. You know this.]
A sigh escapes me, sharp and full of weigh
