Title: Winter's Mercy
Chapter: Prologue
Book: Wolfcry (Amelia Atwater-Rhodes)
Rated: T
Author: DeathMountain
Disclaimer: I don't own Wolfcry or any part of Nyeuisgrube. That's AAR's.
Am I really me?
When I grew old enough to recognize a world outside my own, I started to lay awake at night asking this question.
Is there maybe another me, in the vastness of the world? Was the real me watching the same sky, outlining the same constellations, with the same half-filled heart?
That was the reason, I decided. The reason "wolf" sounded strange, the reason "human" felt unreal. That was why my reflection always seemed sad and far away. That must be it. Why else would I feel like a stranger to myself?
I looked first at the smaller, self-contained worlds of other shapeshifters; maybe the true me was hiding with the ancient Mistari, or the falcons in their beautiful white city, or the avians and serpiente of the infant realm of Wyvern's Court.
Wyvern's Court!
Oh, how could others call it naïve, foolish, doomed? For a short time I ached to see the market brimming with two cultures which had once clashed in bloodshed. Then I was growing up, and innocence no longer blinded me. I abandoned Wyvern's Court, my childhood dream.
My voice was not mine. Foreign tongues spilled over the tip of my tongue fluidly year after year, some with a musical lilt, others with guttural raw force. I liked bringing a small piece of those worlds to me, trapping them in my mind and my mouth. It made me happy to become useful to the pack with my tiny caged semi-worlds. But my ears found the sound of my voice unfamiliar.
Am I really me?
What am I doing, calling myself "wolf." I could not call myself "human." I could not even call myself . . . "me."
I tried, I did. I thought this was home.
Thank you, Velyo, for shattering my last small hope of belonging, the only remaining link on a dying chain. Thank you, you cur, for proving to me that I am NOT one of these people. Thank you for killing my last weakness, even as you used it to destroy me.
A knife in your heart and teeth in your throat, Velyo, for ruining every dream of home.
Wolves.
I can be neither a wolf nor a human anymore.
I cannot pretend I belong.
Betia of Frektane
I don't know if anyone has done this yet. If so, I don't give it damn. (No offense if anyone has begun a fic like this.)
As I go about writing this, it will be far from perfect. I don't intend to make it perfect, it's just something a little simpler that I wanted to do. I wanted to write something I didn't have to agonize over and beat myself up for if I don't finish.
It is most certainly not up to AAR's standard, at all. She's got years of experience on me, both creatively and with the editing and publishing and all that jazz. This is just me, either a future writer or a future bum, expressing my love for the glimpses AAR gives us of a truly engaging world living in her mind.
On a more personal note:
There are a few people, probably, who wonder where I've been lately.
I've been, like Betia in this story, looking for a part of myself.
My best friend, my sister, my teacher, my inspiration, my motivation—her—left for the sake of a small and beautiful life she gave birth to in February. With her, she took my heart.
To Olivia and Jocelyn . . . my two blonde angels.
(700 miles . . . that is how far to the other end of the universe.)