Sleepy Fox Hollow gifa

A coward’s sense of selfish relief flooded Anselm’s chest. He was so busy being self involved, he did not see the forest for the trees. He did not see the vicious shift of disgust that twisted Heda’s usually pleasantly attractive features — or the way it darkened and pooled in her eyes.

Stupid man, oblivious to everything and everyone around him except for himself.

Good. He cleared his throat as if this were a business transaction — and not the gristly butchershop of wolven souls marched to their early death.

She moved away from him then; the threshold that separated them growing into a snarling chasm. Anselm did not want Heda as his own — so why did he feel a budding sense of jealousy hiss and coil around his heart? And why did he feel something ugly inside of him stir to think of her leaving him forever?

It was not as if they’d shared something magical. She was worse off for letting him inside her. And he — well, he knew something now about himself that was too unspeakable to name.

As she stepped into the rain Anselm remembered the day Wylla and Mahler said their goodbyes. He remembered the face of his father and the sorrowful look of his mother as she turned to look at Anselm one last time; the breath of winter on their heels, and the forest closing in around her little lost boy.

And once again he felt a stupefying sense of abandonment coil around his heart. So you are leaving me. He repeated quietly — to himself more than anyone — as Heda dipped out from under the eaves of the grey pine and into the spitting rain.

You are leaving me. He said again feebly, as nothing but the hiss of winter rain sounded around him.