she is back on the mountain. morning dawns, and she is whole, and shattered, all at once. gaze finds herself, reflected blurrily in the careful ice that stretches over the pool. as if mesmerized, she traces the edges of the figure. it is her mother that stares back at her; hateful, tense.
she feels empty; there is only the hate, the anger. everything else has fallen away. it is sharp, broken glass, the tighter she clutches it, the deeper it cuts.
shattering ice; a forelimb punctures through the ice. the gentle scraping of ice on ice, cold. and then it stills again. things have settled, stilled; she is made of hate and ire.
she feels empty; there is only the hate, the anger. everything else has fallen away. it is sharp, broken glass, the tighter she clutches it, the deeper it cuts.
shattering ice; a forelimb punctures through the ice. the gentle scraping of ice on ice, cold. and then it stills again. things have settled, stilled; she is made of hate and ire.
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