Little Blue Strings

Little Blue Snippets II

A streak of purple lighting dances over the heads of the garden's trees, accompanied by a loud crash of thunder. The rain is coming down in waves, splashing at the turbulent surface of the stream. The small body of water is threatening to spill over its banks, but for now, it holds.

"Well, I'm not going to leave you out here!" Life calls over the wind.

The black wolf takes a few cautious steps in his direction, crouching low to the ground.

"Come on!"

The wolf looks across the water, then at him. Finally, it makes a quick dash to the doorway, and slips past him. With the wolf inside, Life covers the entryway with a board. When he is satisfied the 'door' is secured, he turns back into the heart of his home.

At the moment, a fire is burning within the tree, and the smoke funnels up and out through the hollowed trunk. He does not necessarily need it for heat, as most of the time he is covered in fur, but he does use it as a light source. Currently, the wolf is using it to dry his fur.

Keeping an eye on shadowy creature, Life moves across the room to sit on the floor. He leans against the wall, watching the wolf. He knows who it is.

Death looks up at him, and those gold eyes bore into his heart. They're intense, but pure and striking. Beautiful, really.

"I only did what anyone else would have done," Life says, feeling the need to justify his actions for some reason. "It's not anything big."

The wolf licks its paw, shaking the water droplets from it. All the while, it maintains eye contact. A bit unnerved, Life looks away, training his gaze on the fire.

Outside, the rain continues to fall. The repetitive thrumming is relaxing, and Life eventually closes his eyes, lost in the sound. He isn't sure how long he sleeps for, only that when he opens his eyes, the fire has died down to a pile of glowing embers. The hares that live with him are huddled up together in front of it, as close as they dare get.

On the far side of the room, as far away as possible from him, is the wolf. It is curled into a tight ball, trapped in a fitful sleep. He quietly observes the shadow. Every now and then, its lips will pull back in the beginnings of a snarl, its ears with twitch, its hackles will raise, or a low, keening whimper will rise from the back of its throat. It's pitiful, really. And it shouldn't affect him- it really shouldn't. This wolf is Death. His opposite. One he should hate and avoid. So, why is he moving to comfort this monster? Why is he sitting beside it, pulling its surprisingly soft head into his lap? Why is he stroking its fur and murmuring calm words into its ear? He does not know the answers to these questions. He only knows that he is compelled to do these things. Perhaps it is just his nature, but then again, perhaps there is something inside him that needs this as well.

He has been on his own since he was able to walk. The others in the garden all have friends and loved ones, and some, like Peace, have bonded with their opposites- for better or for worse. All the while, he has remained alone and isolated. He has never reached out. That is, until now.

As he runs his hand over the wolf's head again, there is a flicker. Life freezes, his wide eyes gazing down at the peaceful face in his lap.

Death's skin is dark and tan, and his hair is as black as the wolf's pelt. He appears to be the same age, but his stature is smaller. Smaller, but not delicate. Like Life, he also wears a cloak, but this one is made of the darkness itself. It covers nearly every inch of him, with the exception of his face; the hood has fallen back behind his head.

Life, unsure of what to do, lowers his hand. It comes to rest in Death's hair. It's soft, he realizes. Just like the wolf's fur. He brushes his fingers through the black locks experimentally. Death sighs. It is a quiet, soft sound, and it touches something inside of Life.

He looks at his hand, and then back at Death's still face. It isn't as if anyone is around to see this... And he doubts Death will remember any of it. It can't hurt, right? He repeats this over and over again in his head as he resumes his gentle strokes. It can't hurt at all.