deepundergroundpoetry.com

Love, encapsulated

*** This piece was inspired by the work of Chiara Bautista, specifically the picture here: https://40.media.tumblr.com/8d3f3f938b49ea4dae3a6fb674a6c954/tumblr_nshqeylMhd1ur40zlo1_500.jpg The characters are however my own, though they draw heavily from the image ***

It�s almost midnight, and somehow, despite the wind that shakes the trees throughout the forest, the clearing is still and quiet. The small lake is as smooth as glass, a perfect reflection of the starry skies above.

The girl sitting by the lake is enjoying the quiet. Her long blonde hair sits soft and undisturbed, flowing down over her shoulders as she concentrates, looking into the dark depths of the water. In one hand she holds a pad of paper, a sketch half-completed marring the pristine white page � the pencil, until recently held in her other hand, lies abandoned on the soft grass beside her.

Her eyes are locked on the water, intently studying her own reflection. She raises her free hand to brush back a wandering strand of hair, then stops, her hand still lifted, watching the moonlight play across her skin. She waves her fingers back and forth. Her reflection, of course, mimics her, giving her the curious impression she�s waving to herself. The feeling makes her tilt her head to one side, the bright green eyes of her reflection following her movement. They have an interesting quality to them, she decides � she feels like they�re studying her, reading her, even though they give nothing away � at least, nothing she can decipher. She looks for a sense of pain, of joy, of loss, of love, of anything hiding in the emerald sparks, but to her frustration she can�t find whatever she�s looking for. Her reflection mirrors the curiosity, but not the emotion � whatever she�s feeling, and trying to examine.

She stills suddenly, straining her ears to try and hear something above the gusts of wind rattling through the rest of the trees. She breaks her gaze with her mirrored self, and raises her eyes to the North, scanning across the star-studded expanse like a ships lookout, lips slightly parted as tough at any second she will a warning, or a plea. Whatever she seeks makes no appearance, however, and she resumes her solitary contemplation, her face almost confused. Is she waiting? Does she know why she is here?

She picks up her pencil again, bending her head to the design taking shape on the pad. Rapid, smooth strokes darken the page, as from nothingness she edges, defines, and creates something entirely of her world, whichever it may be. There�s an element of transition in her drawing � something indefinable and unseen, flowing from her to the paper and returning. A perfect conducting loop, as her art pulls worry and trouble from her and returns serenity.

A sharp crack echoes from somewhere else in the forest � a branch breaking or twig snapping, the wind ripping free a limb as it rages its way across the world. The girl spares not even a glance � nothing will touch her, in this time and in this place. The pencil strokes become her private symphony, faster and faster to a crescendo of rapid, light shading, fading away to a low, long, drawn-out curve. A world of creation in 3 dimensions.

She relinquishes her grip on the pencil and softly brushes the design with her fingertip, blurring and softening a line here or there, the drawing flowing smoothly together, like molten silver settling on the page. The fresh graphite coating her fingertip shines in the moonlight, and she swirls it through the air, enjoying the faint breeze and the muted flash of the silver-grey sheen.

The artist dips her finger in the lake, washing it clean in the dark water. The calm surface disturbed,
gentle ripples spread outwards, softly lapping against the shore. She contemplates her distorted reflection, watching her eyes flash once, twice, and again, vanishing and reappearing with each passing ripple. The flashes come longer and longer, until her eyes stare back at her undisturbed, only the contours of her face still mutable. She holds her own gaze, as though soothing herself, until the water lies still and peaceful once more.

And yet�

The water is still, but the stars and moon reflected in the blankness seem still to ripple, almost imperceptibly. The girl notices nothing � she has picked up her work and is scrutinising it carefully. The minute motion disturbs her not at all.

The reflection begins to shimmer more. No longer rippling like water, the stars seem to be moving behind the curtain of night�s blackness � like actors, dancers, they begin to shift, still so slowly, but more deliberate now, as though something behind the scenes is directing them. They coil and sway, glinting ballet dancers stretching for an opening move.

She notices something.

In the water, the moon is no longer still. She leans forward, entranced, looking for the ripples against the land that cause this. Her eyes widen with surprise at there being none, until eventually, wonderingly, she tilts her head back and turns her beautiful eyes to the skies.

The moon drifts a little, and the stars flicker, as though something is pulling on them. Lines appear where none were before, and somehow a shadow is cast even on the midnight darkness. Her mouth parts, anticipation, uncertainty and surprise all mixed. The wind rises.

The wolf stands up.

She never knows when he appears � at one moment the stars are shifting and the next, she knows him to be a wolf. The moment of a moment, time too small to be measured � and she sees him.

As he uncoils from his slumber, standing tall, he shakes, rolling his head, and pulls himself free of the backdrop of the world. A mile above the ground, he stands with the North Star on his forehead, pushing gently at the moon with his muzzle.

He throws back his head and howls, though the artist, sitting far below, cannot hear it. Instead, she hears the rest of the forest shake as the wind gusts through it harder than she has ever known.

The wolf turns, swinging his head this way and that, his nose questing for something. The girl looks up at him, seeing his outline shimmer, the thick ruff of fur on his neck and shoulders ruffling gently in some celestial wind. She sees the massive paws padding across acres of sky as he searches for whatever is occupying him.

All at once, she sees his eyes. She sees them look right at her, the whole shaggy body becoming still, stopping solidly in place. The weight of his gaze presses on down on her, almost a physical presence, and he cocks his head to one side, his ears flicking ever so slightly. She is reminded of her own study of her reflection � she wonders what he is searching for in his scrutiny of her.

He begins to move again, but this time he pads downwards, walking out of the sky towards her. With every step he changes slightly, making his way down out of the constellations towards the treetops. Following a curving, spiralling path, he shrinks somewhat � still larger than any animal she has seen, but no longer the titan he was. At the treetops he stops, and with one final leap he is out of the sky, and standing on the edge of her clearing.

She sits there, almost frozen. For all he has decreased in size, he still stands as tall as her shoulder, with each paw almost the size of a car wheel. His coat is the same darkness as the sky above, and stars decorate his flanks and limbs, the north star on his forehead the brightest of them all. His eyes, though, are what arrest her � not the featureless white of the moon she half-expected, nor the amber colour of any wolf she could think of � instead, a grey colour not dissimilar to the shaded pencil on her sketch. Light, yet deep and dark, and above all, watchful.

Something inside her makes her stretch her hand out. What it was, she couldn�t say � maybe the emotion she�d been looking for in her reflection, maybe something else that she could see, flickering into life behind those same grey eyes � but she reaches out towards the huge animal, inviting him closer.

He sniffs the air, eyes never leaving her, then slowly, rolling his shoulders forward with each motion, he takes the steps closer. His tail swishes behind him, cutting softly through the air with a gentle rush, the first sound she can remember being made in the clearing by anything other than her. She notices he leaves no mark on the grass as he passes � for all his great size, he puts not even enough pressure on the ground to bend a single blade.

He presses closer, hesitantly, until her hand rests behind his head. She begins to run her fingers through the thick fur, surprised at how solid he seems, and yet�not. The pressure of his body against her hand, the thick softness of the fur across his neck is undeniably real, yet she feels that if she presses too close, she could fall right through � perhaps not physically, but in some way she cannot describe. Her heart beats faster � even stroking him like this, she cannot help but be scared of the sheer size of him, the huge rolling muscles under her questing fingers. He ducks his head, nuzzles closer against her side, a peaceful rumble coming from his throat, setting her slightly more at ease. She brushes her across his ears and they flicker, making her giggle a little.

The wolf sits closer to the artist, his long body half curled around her, with his head resting in her lap, almost eclipsing it entirely. His paws, stretched out in front of him, look huge to her � she leans forward and holds one in her hand, marvelling at how it dwarfs her own hand. She looks down to meet his gaze, which she is almost certain is laughing at her a little. She blushes, and lets his paw drop, an action which provokes a grumble from the beast. She runs her fingers up his leg and scratches him lightly under the chin. His eyes close slightly and his head tilts back.

She didn�t realise how cold the clearing had been until he was pressed against her, radiating heat at every touch. She shivers and presses closer, her arms wrapped around his thick neck, barely meeting on the other side. He curls a little tighter, wrapping his hind legs around her as she sits there, her face pressed against his neck. His tail thumps on the ground a few times as he wraps her tighter in the warmth. He rubs his head against hers, trying to soothe her, calm her. The wind rages on around the clearing, but not one hair on his head is disturbed.

She feels him breathing. It�s something that she�s not sure comes as a surprise or not � in some way she hadn�t expected him to breathe, had thought him too still and quiet for his chest to so much as rise and fall � and yet she�s not in the least bit shocked to feel his body expand and contract against hers. It just feels right, somehow � it feels exactly as it should.

She never knows how long they sit like that, pressed together, him keeping the cold from her. She talks to him, tells him her life, tells him her pain and her troubles. The emotion and worry she poured into her drawings is poured into him, and as he gazes into her eyes she sees him accept it. She sees him listen, and accept, and as he presses close again she feels him help.

He never says a word, but somehow she knows him. She feels the way he wanders the skies, passing through the world, searching for something. She doesn�t know what � maybe he doesn�t either. He pushes his paws into the ground, without leaving a mark, and she feels his frustration, his resentment, against what he doesn�t know, the rage against the loss and uncertainty over his own existence. When he rolls his head and looks up at her, half upside down, she feels his humour, a rumble from his chest mimicking a laugh as he bats at a loose strand of her hair. He nuzzles her hands with his nose, and she feels his contentment.

He passes his eyes over her drawing, and she shows him it, holding it up in front of his deep grey eyes, laughing when some loose graphite dust tickles his nose and he sneezes, pushing his muzzle into the grass. He comes up with a stray blade of it sitting on his nose, and it�s the funniest thing she�s seen in a long time. She�s not sure he understands the drawing, but he understands the work, the soul she gave it, and he likes it. He presses his nose against it and breathes out softly, and the faintest starshine drifts from his coat and into the page, almost imperceptibly lighting it from the inside, making it look real. She gasps and hugs him, wrapping her arms around him and holding on for dear life. Her eyes start to well up and she dries them in the soft, warm fur of the lupine figure around her.

Away in the woods, branches break in the wind, loud and sharp. The noise of some animal or other drifts through the trees faintly � and above, a shooting star streaks a trail of light across the sky. The girl looks at the light, and vaguely registers the noise, but the wolf�

He half-stands, his lower body still curled tightly around the beautiful artist, his front paws braced against the grass, and unleashes a growl that echoes around the peaceful clearing. The noise rumbles on, through the forest, carrying far and wide. All other noises stop, even the wind dropping to a whisper instead of a scream. His shoulders tensed, his tail still, and his jaws slightly open. His growl rumbles deep through his body, sending gentle vibrations through the girl. Somehow, though, she isn�t scared. She knows this growl isn�t at her � it�s at the world.

She knows he�s protecting her, against anything. Everything. The world. She knows what that growl means.

Mine.

The growl cuts off, and silence reigns over all for a time.

�Silly Wolfy!�

He looks around at her and blinks, startled. Her laughing voice breaks the spell, and the wind picks up again, though nowhere near the level of before. He twitches his ears at her, and she feels his querying look � doesn�t she know he�s telling the rest of the world she�s protected?

The girl � his girl � giggles, and hugs him again. She knows alright, and she loves it. She just thinks he looks cute when he�s confused, instead of the big, bad, dangerous beast. She cuddles him closely and whispers to him as he lies back down. Contented, he curls around her again, slitting his eyes as she strokes him gently. Being a Wolfy is better than a Wolf, he thinks. When he was a Wolf, he was a lot less happy than now.

She tells him more of her life, of her family, her friends, everything she can think of. He never asks questions, and she wonders why. His response comes flooding over her, in great waves � she isn�t a puzzle for him to solve, she�s an answer to experience. He has found what he�s looking for.

She sits back, and he rises slightly to look her in the eyes, grey meeting green with every emotion in the world hovering and flitting in the space between them. She gently rests her hand along the side of his muzzle, and their foreheads rest together, both of them at peace.

She loves the feel of the wolf � her wolf � under her hand, her head, pressed against her body. Her other hand brushes over his broad, strong chest and for the first time, she feels his heartbeat � she�s sure she hadn�t yet felt that. She looks at him questioningly, and the motion of his head directs her to look downwards, to where she rests her hand.

Brighter than the North Star on his brow, a red light is glowing in his chest. It shines and flares beyond any of the other pinpricks of light across his shaggy coat, and she knows that it wasn�t there when she saw him as he entered the clearing. She meets his eyes again, her face a mask of pure wonder, and she sees the expression of worry on his surprisingly expressive face deepen, then relax as she smiles, her eyes welling up once more.

She presses her hand to his chest again, and starts as she feels something new � she sees her hand passing through his celestial body, into his chest. She feels him stiffen, tense up, then relax. The feeling of trust hits her, and she marvels at him once more.

She runs her hand along the inside of his coat, each star like a tiny little spark that makes her tingle all over. He shakes, as though drying to dry off, and starlight dances off everything in the clearing for a second. Her hand becomes the centre of his own light show, and she laughs, high and clear. His ears prick up at the beautiful laugh, and his mouth drops open into a grin at the sound he loves.

His girl pulls her hand back, almost leaving his body, but at the last second she stops, and with only the slightest hesitation, she brushes her fingertips over the beautiful, shining red star in his chest.

Pain shoots through her hand.

The fiery star in the centre of his chest burns her soft fingertips and she screams, pulling her hand back sharply, ripping herself free of his dark fur. Tears well in her eyes again, but tears of pain now, hot and sharp, and this time she doesn�t dry them away.

He moves towards her straight away, concern written all over him, but the pain is fresh and in that moment, all she sees is a giant predator, moving towards her. She throws a hand into his chest, hard, as she scrambles backwards, further from him. Confusion and pain radiate off him in great waves as he is pushed away from her.

He starts to fade.

It happens almost invisibly, but the light in the clearing dims somewhat, and she sees panic spring to life in his eyes. His great head swings from side to side and his eyes roll in their sockets, seeking something that he can�t see. The great muscles in his neck and shoulders tense, and his tail stands straight up in the air, the very tip vibrating as he tries to fight off something that he doesn�t know. His hackles raised and his jaw clenched, he shakes and writhes, but there is nothing to do. Light and darkness alike are streaming from him, back towards the cruel, cold sky.

He howls then, and this time she hears it, but it�s not the loud, strong, proud call she would expect of her
wolf, it�s an agonized, tortured, traumatic sound that cuts her bone-deep. Every single piece of rage and frustration is told in that howl, and she flinches to hear it.

His paws are leaving marks now.

Great grooves are being ripped into the ground by those massive, strong feet, tearing frantically at the ground to try and find purchase, but to no avail. With every passing second his outline is distorting, becoming more blurred as his grip on the world loosens and he drifts back into night�s curtain.

She reaches for him, trying desperately to hold on to his paw, his neck, his fur, anything that will anchor him here with her, but despite his effect on the physical world, he has no solidity under her hands. Her hands, the same ones she ran through his mane as he shielded her from the cold, pass straight through his body without finding it.

He howls again, pain and anger and loss warring in his voice.

His eyes are the last thing to go.

She sees a teardrop fall from one of those expressive grey eyes, as her wolf vanishes for the last time, high above the treetops. It hits the lake she so recently gazed into, but no ripples spread from where it hits, and there is no splash to mark its passing. Her wolf is gone, like he never existed.

She looks upwards, to see the stars he wore for her, but they are gone, the night sky even darker than it was before. She reaches out to try and feel him, but the world is emptier, somehow, and she knows that in every way, her Wolfy has gone.

She howls for him, but there is no-one to hear, and never will be again.