The Tangle Blame it all on yourself

There was more hunters than just the children in the wood that day.

Lucky for Metis, who blundered through life with the grace of an elephant outrunning its past, the biggest thing among the Tangle was a quick weasel. And, it seemed, that was what she was after.

First came the quick brown figure, followed by the whirling dervish of a winter storm. They tangled there, in the footpath, saliva strings connecting Metis’s fangs for only a second, the weasel desperate in its last stand. The dueling pair caught in a picturesque moment for the length of a butterfly’s wingbeat.

For that is all you will know,- Came the unbidden voice in the back of her head, a screaming Greek chorus as they tried to avert her tragedy.

Her teeth wrapped around the weasel’s head.

-a life led by violence.

The chains of death wrapped in ivory around the weasel, and the white youth proceeded to crush its skull between her fangs, left proudly holding the weasel between her teeth.

And immediately, the chorus faded.