juniper
"put me in a car, i just want to go home. . ."
the night is deep and boundless, pulling at the edges of earthy tones, threatening to pluck them apart strand by strand. the fibers are frail, they do not cling in earnest to their host, eager to unravel. the grass binds itself wherever it can grasp her, vines that twist around ankles and beg to drag her under the surface too, because that's where she is and that's where the dull aching begs to resonate again. to grow stiller, to lose its warmth- to rest. it is a losing battle, one that saps strength through every stride, unable to push past the thrall of stillness, of silence. the rise and fall of each breath is a labored one, no longer a labor of love but a labor of the demands of so many others. what benefit did they draw from her persistence, for every layer stripped away what boons were they gaining? there is judgement in every stare, every sharpened tongue- hisses of her weaknesses, the fragility of kindness and how little it won them. perhaps there was truth in that.
maybe the constant battering of the ram against her spine would be enough to convince her the ache was worth relenting to. gentleness was not a sturdy shield but rather a raw, gaping weakness perfect to exploit. a tender underbelly, fit to dig your claws into. an exposed throat, ready for fangs to sink into it.
the world spins, blurring where one thing ends and melding into the next. weaving in a broken, swirling pattern, tracing and retracing paths already tread. where was the border...? the stinking stretch of tar and rot. the same one that something achingly familiar lay just on the other side of. the same one that drew near to a home left ravaged seasons passed, one that held memory, that held loss. that held relief.
she teeters on the edge of it next she blinks. like snapping through a lapse in time. empty space in between dull throbs in the hollow space between a cage under her skin. it is not the relief she searches for, as the wind howls, blustering against her face when a blinding light surges past. no... her paws turn, back towards the dark, back towards the empty space between sparse trees.
the thrumming... it drones on, louder and louder. inescapable now, the way it hammers in her ears, the way it pulses behind red-rimmed eyes. she staggers over the inconsiderate design of a tree root lifted above the surface, a sorrowful, pitiful groan of overwhelm, of exhaustion. but when she catches herself, lifts her eyes enough to see the wavering path in front of her, there like a beacon is the lifted trunk of a half-fallen tree, its roots like this one wrapping an enclosure that awaits an overdue guest. or a prisoner.
as if giving permission, her legs give out as she crawls into the isolated comfort of a smaller space, one that is not beheld under the prying eyes of a hundred stars- just the pale light of the moon peaking between tree branches. a rattling breath rushes in flimsy exhale, a weary head laid to rest against the coolness of the shadow-hidden earth.
the ache stretches to every nerve until it is the only sensation left. the heavy thump... thump... thump. it is as empty here as her face had been. as empty as a promise that could not be kept. there is no medicine that can fix it, at least none that she will allow Rowanpaw to offer to her. her, who had been the last to share a breath with her. her, who had been the last to carry her home. the frustration, the regret, it boils into a sprinting heartbeat, one that far outpaces her capacity to hold it.
and it pours... from every seam, heaven-sent and star-dusted.
what a relief... to not have to bear it anymore.
