Crystalline

Appeal

When they got back to the house, Lissa was still asleep, her body curled into the seat, wrapped in the blanket. He caught the flash of a fish darting across her neck and smiled slightly, remembering his surprise at her odd but well meaning plan.

It made sense, he thought; she'd been trapped for her whole life, and setting the fish free was like her own freedom, something to say that not a single creature deserved to be trapped, not even something as small as a goldfish.

His skin was cold, his hair damp as he ran his fingers through it. He sighed, looking over at Lissa. He really did not want to wake her; she looked so peaceful, so calm. But he also didn't want to carry a half-naked girl who he'd only barely just met. He sighed and leaned over, gently shaking her shoulder. "Lissa? Wake up. We're back."

She blinked her eyes open and sat up, clutching the blanket to keep it in place around her body. She gave him a small smile before opening her door and slipping carefully from the car, padding across the grass with her bare feet. It said something about her that she didn't even bother with shoes, didn't even show a sign of having thought about putting them on, but he didn't know if it was good or bad. It was a little endearing, to see her pressing her feet carefully into the grass with each step she took, as if she would float away were she not careful. The blanket fluttered slightly around her bare legs, showing flashes of mirror-like skin that rippled like the surface of muddied water, dust billowing out as if something had disturbed the dirt below. And then his mother was at the door, a small, confused smile flickering around her mouth as she led Lissa inside. Then she turned and gave him a look.

He scrambled from the car and gathered Lissa's wet clothes and untouched shoes and socks, carrying the sodden bundle inside and depositing it into a basket in the laundry; there was something about his mother, though he had not seen her in years, that still had the ability to scare him. Perhaps it was the slight narrowing of her eyes that made him feel as if he had done something wrong. Then again, it was not entirely unwarranted for her to be suspicious. He had just driven home with a soaking wet girl wearing nothing but a blanket.

Deciding he'd risk his mother's wrath later, he climbed the stairs and had a quick shower, watching dirt spiral down the drain before he got dressed and jogged down the stairs, lightly towelling his hair dry.

Lissa sat on the couch, dressed in an old pair of pyjamas he recognised from when he was younger. They were flannel, soft and warm blue fabric, covered in small red fire trucks. They had been his at twelve. They were still slightly too big for Lissa's tiny frame, hanging wide on her collarbones, the cord pulled tightly at her waist. Her feet were encased in a pair of ridiculously fluffy socks, and her wet, glass-like hair had been braided down her back. He looked at the pyjamas once more, wondering why his mother had kept them, before he shook it off.

He looked over to the other couch, where the young girl with the hair made of feathers lay as if asleep. She looked frightened, for someone who was unconscious, her small face scrunched up in worry. He wished she would wake; it would make things so much easier. Then again, nothing was ever easy. If life were easy Riley would be a boy, not a wolf, and Lissa would be able to change the colour of her skin with her will, and the girl would be awake so that they could leave the country. Then again, if things were easy, they would not be in this position in the first place. In an ideal world, his father would not exist. And if that meant never having been born himself, he thought he might not mind all that much, considering all the terrible things his father had done. The sacrifice of his own life seemed small in the face of so many helpless people, being tortured for something they couldn't help, for simply being what they were. 

His mother walked into the room from the laundry, her lips pursed as she caught a glimpse of him. She beckoned him over with a finger and he sighed, following her into the kitchen, where he preceded to tell her everything that they had done. When he was finished, she was quiet for a moment. He didn't know what the look on her face meant, so he was quiet too, just watching her. Finally, she shook her head slightly, her eyes seeing somewhere far away. "Just... don't bring her home soaking wet next time."

"Of course," he said, a little shocked. She turned and pressed her hands into the bench, as if nothing was keeping her standing but the marble beneath her fingers. Her knuckles turned white, bloodless, as her grip tightened and she stared out the window over the sink. He wondered, for a moment, what was going through her head. And then he turned away and walked over to the couch, sat on the ground beside where Lissa was perched on the couch and rested his arm on the cushion.

"Has Riley changed back yet?" he asked, tilting his head back to look up at Lissa.

She shook her head and pointed to the corner of the room, and it was only then that he noticed that the lump amidst a pile of cushions was not a lump, but was a furry creature so white it almost hurt his eyes to look at it.

"Riley?" he asked. The cushions shifted, and then two amber eyes blinked open, staring at him with eerie precision. It was strange to think that he hadn't even noticed Riley's whine, that the sound had quickly become a background noise, that his body had become so used to the idea of a boy who was a wolf that it hadn't even thought to tell him of a potential danger in the room. Of course, Riley didn't seem dangerous. He was a boy, small and scrawny. But as a wolf, he was large and rangy, with sharp teeth and claws that clicked smartly against the floorboards and the gaze of a predator.

Slowly, he shifted into a crouch and moved warily towards Riley, staying close to the ground. The wolf growled, fur rising along his neck, but didn't move, and he took that as a good sign as he moved closer. Closer. Closer. Til he was so close he could reach out and touch the wolf's snow-white fur. But he didn't. His mother had told him that the only one Riley had let touch him so far was Lissa. She was obviously the best choice of all of them to talk Riley out of his wolf form. But, of course, Lissa couldn't speak.

He leant back against the wall beside the wolf and turned his head to the side, watching Riley watching him. The wolf-boy didn't blink, didn't move, didn't show a sign of living except for the subtle rise and fall of his fur and the whine still coming from his throat. He thought of the things the boy must have gone through, and then realised that he couldn't possibly imagine how it felt to be taken from his family, forced to go through the excruciating change from boy to wolf and wolf to boy. He could never imagine the pain of seeing a sibling being ripped apart by a change wrought by his own blood, could never even think of what it felt like to make the decision to end their pain. And so he decided to appeal to another side of the boy, a part he at least knew he could relate to: he appealed to his stomach.

"When was the last time you ate something?" he asked softly. Riley's whine stopped, his ears flickering just slightly. Kale fought a smile as he brushed a piece of hair from his eyes, leaning towards the wolf. "Hungry?" he asked. RIley's nose twitched, and a growl rumbled low in his throat as he raised his lip, sharp canines showing, which he took as a yes. He climbed to his feet and started towards the kitchen, pausing to look back over his shoulder. He watched as the wolf rose gracefully from the cushions and padded uncertainly after him, as if the hunter was now wary of his prey rather than sure of his ability to take its life.

Kale turned back around and continued walking, a small smile flickering about the corners of his mouth as he led the wolf-boy into the kitchen.