'Doubt is a pain too lonely to know that faith is his twin brother,' - Khalil Gibran.
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THE DAY IS BEAUTIFUL with the sun stretching its warm wings of caress over the landscape. Even the wild life seems in harmony and celebrates the intoxicating smell of summer with trees drowsily swaying by the gentle breeze that makes sure to divide the heat.
Birds peacefully clean their feathers while others engage in an innocent play of tag. Happiness floats not only in the air, but in me too, and I let my hand fall to my stomach again. I strain my hearing hoping for a quiet sound of Xavier as he is out of view.
I don't approve of endangering the forest, but I understand it is essential to the agreement of us continuing to stay here.
A part of me is aware of how selfish I am for adamantly wanting to stay; stubborn and delusional to be honest. Xavier is right. It is childish to think they won't come - after what I did, it is inexorable.
But then I see the girl playing in the garden and another part of me calms down the reasonable voice within me. Softly, it coaxes me to relax, saying they will only do what is important to the whole of the pack. Therefore, I try to find solitude in the fact that I am insignificant and replaceable.
No one would go to such lengths to find someone like me.
The girl twirls and jumps while picking flowers and runs as fast as her legs can possibly carry her when a curious jackrabbit comes to play. There is no doubt or sadness visible in her features. She is safe and carefree within the barriers of our sparse home with no doubt and insecurity evident in her eyes, and I feel a tugging in my chest as I desperately wish the same for our unborn child.
Like she senses my speculations, the young wolf stops with her knees in the grass after a somersault, and turns her head to look at me.
She has not spoken a word ever since she appeared, and I am not sure whether if she even has a voice. Yet, her face holds so much emotion I'm not sure she even need words.
Whenever I look at her, I feel like I am drowning in the black iris, like it cannot reflect the light and causes the blackness to absorb me instead. No sound is heard, not even my own breathing. All I can hear is the sound of silence. Then, as I finally climb my way back staring into the crystal blue of the other, I feel its sparkle ignite my insides with unending potential.
"Who are you?" The words hoarsely appear from the depths of my throat, and I blink as I feel the child's hand on my face again, not sure how she could suddenly be standing right in front of me.
Gently, she brushes my hair away from my face, and as she does so I feel the stem of a flower settle behind my ear.
"Thank you," I speak sincerely, though she still does not utter a word. Instead she holds my gaze with a peculiar seriousness for a child, before her features morphs into a smile and flowers are thrown all around us.
