Monologueing

[Reagan Tyndall]

I love the house when it’s quiet. I can hear every whistle of wind through the gap in the stones and it lulls me into a moment of peace. It’s a sign that there’s something bigger. Something bigger than Me. Bigger than Yew. Sometimes I can hear the trees when they bend and lean with the breeze. Momma Bear would have loved this, maybe not for all the reasons I do. She’d love it for the edge it gave her, that ability to hear footsteps coming across a muddy road half a click away. She would have appreciated it though, and that’s really all that matters to me. There’s something about the wind that strokes the restlessness inside. Something about it that grabs what little wild I have and clutches it tightly, kindred recognizing a bosom friend when it sees it.

I’ve not been to see her yet. For now, the Lady Drakrul is an image I have. She’s a myth, a fabrication, or worse maybe is a dream that will be crushed under the boots of reality. The locket Momma bear gave me has her symbol on it. It took three years to find who it belonged to. Her estate isn’t far. I could hit with a rock if I threw it.

Soon. I’ll knock on her door soon.

 

[Reagan Tyndall]

It's not.

It is.

It's just a wolf.

A smart wolf the size of a horse.

Well, yeah but.

No but. You know.

I don't.

It's the alcohol.

You weren't drunk at the moongate.

No, that's true.

She wasn't a lot of things at the moongate. That included being completely prepared for what Cirilia had in store. She'd never had one drink let alone 11 eleven bottles. Death should have met her, like it did Gunther.

You can't hold your liquor.

Neither could Gunther.

That was petty.

It wasn't. It was the truth.

You have no morals when you're drunk.

The bed gave a creak as it accepted the weight of her.

I'm tired but not ready for sleep. Somehow the world has sped up and I can't seem to keep step with the music it's whirling to.

Nonsense, just time to learn a few new steps.