Varg stopped his mad laughter, drawing his gaze from the darkness of the ocean to fix it upon my face.
"For the sake of your fucking revenge, I would burn the world, Vespera," he said, his voice deeper than a roll of thunder. "Even if your wolf does not awaken, my wolf will protect us both. If I die, I will be the earth that mingles with your soil, covering your body like the night. My flesh shall rot first. If two flowers bloom from our grave, one shall be you and the other me... Let the rainwater flow to your roots; let only the dry earth embrace me. For you did not find my heart as a key, but as my own demise."
We held hands. What were we, truly? What would they call us? In those stories told by ancient wolves gathered around the fire, what verses would be written in our names? Would the bards whistle a lazy tune and spin legends about us?
