How do you fight the Moon?
The King has fallen to a God.
The world is gathering, surrounding the Northern hemisphere on all side, crushing, strangling the land in a tight noose.
All they demand is Charlie's head. The female Alpha born from two alp...
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Exhale.
The ash-grey half-moon flinches in the sky, looking down. Let her watch. The Wild takes us East with certainty. Her hind legs are as powerful as the thunder chasing after her speeding body. It seems foolish for the storm to think it can gain ground on a Wild who holds no limits of this world.
—the rush of it all.
We run as One.
Everything hums. Vibrates.
Thin shapes follow, nose us faster, beyond comprehension. Everything blurs.
We run. . .
Let the Moon watch.
The storm continues to give chase from the growing distance.
It feels as if the world itself is whispering faster.Faster.
We run with our nose forward, ears down, and hind legs digging ourselves into the ground, creating gouges in the land's surface. We leave our mark where we have been. Deep cuts in the pristine surface—a trail is left.
Lungs are on fire. Still, she pushes forward. Running without fear. Without anyone pulling her back by the scruff. Telling her to stop. The freedom to be who she is without barriers. Without my worries.
. . . the Wild inhales, and so do I.
Breathing as One.
Faster we run.
The world is listening, giving way to our approach.
A test of her speed, I now push her from the inside. Faster, I tell her. Faster she goes.
This is a power that can be fed upon. A nourishment I didn't know I had been without.
Before, I was starving. Now, I will feed—devouring the energy. Ingesting everything. I will consume it all.
The Wild is not my enemy. She is not something to fear. She is me, I am her.
We run.
She gives me all her strength. It feels as if I am the one running now. I am the one with her nose leading, feet pounding into the dirt. The Wild sits back in my mind, allowing me to lead her as she screams...faster. Faster.
Back and forth, we trade within our minds. Trust is forming between us as one thought. One body. There is no in-between anymore.
One soul.
I don't fight the power entering through the marrow of our bones. It expands into the blood and anchors into our chest.
The distant storm explodes behind us, and even the noise seems to say, run. Run. Run.
All the times I've buried myself in the books, in the plants, are coming back to me. Whenever she tried to come out, I pushed the Wild down in another line, drawing a perfect specimen on a journal page.
