Moonspear black holes in my favorite sweaters

the anger that had seemed boundless is only now starting to grow faint around the edges. hydra's words, and her brothers, fill the quiet at the back of her mind, and gradually she loosens her grip around that sharp-edged hatred. 

she follows the borderline as evening descends, alone in the quiet before the night. somewhere beyond the limits of her vision comes the eerie call of a fox, dissonant and distant. she pauses, gaze settling somewhere on that blurred horizon line, auds pressed forward and limbs falling motionless.