7 | some harm
split it two, it is base survival that pushes the wolfdog forward from the encounter with angel woman. she had not brought him death nor redemption, yet she was a reminder. or a figment, perhaps, real or imagined: life beats outside his own chest.
poetry fills him, that fickle thread of muse he'd missed, and he sets to walking until his dog-tender paw pads feel raw and bruised. worms walks straight, or as straight as land allows, ignoring the ache and the specks of blood left in snow with each step. under breath he sketches: "angel upon the breast / that carrier of message - no, perhaps - angel upon the mountain's breast..."
abruptly his claws skitter across ice. ah! the ground has given way to frozen lake without his notice. whatever mountain's breast he awoke at is long passed from view, and suddenly, aware of the bracing cold, a shiver sets upon his ragged form. perhaps death will come for him after all in the slow burn of hypothermia, if he is kind enough to wait.
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