I was in the Edge again. Don’t ask me—I just was.

I would start thinking about it too hard and Cheek already has a problem with me thinking about shit to hard and he he’s been trying to teach me how to cool my jets even though we both know it’s an impossible task but he keeps trying, he keeps trying, and I love him forever for that (amongst a lot of other things).

(Also—I don’t talk for him anymore cuz he can talk for himself now. Or at least, I don’t describe shit to him anymore, because he’s a big boy and I crimp his style or whatever. Fine. Fine. I didn’t feel like yapping my gums to you anymore nohow. Bastard)

I mean, he is a huge bastard now (I am, he says). Not that I have any clue what exactly the hell he is, because I still don’t (A rougarou, he tells me, knowing full well it means jackshit to me) but I’m like 89% sure his whole breed is just built to fuck with me. Large and fluffed out and SWOLE like a lion, here he is now, laying across my back, his bat-like wings draped over my sides (hiding the gleam of metal—) while his bright blue whatever the hell (is it a tail? A stinger? What the fuck—) curled against his back in a pleased, lazy feline tick. If any of that shit made sense to you then I don’t know where the fuck you’re even from because I don’t even know where they do that at, but I wasn’t lying to you either. Because that’s what he chose to be: a huge (pretty) lion with wings and a blue butt-thing. (And horns.) And horns. He’s got horns, too. I forgot to mention them.

He was lying on my back ‘cuz it was balls freezing. It wasn’t the North so I guess that’s the north-like wind was blindsiding me so bad, but so it was; cutting and furious and cold so goddamn cold and there we were, standing outside the broken shards of a glass wall standing useless and gorgeous around the perimeter of the sea-side herd. (Useless and gorgeous like my swo—)

(Stop.)

(But it’s just like—)

(Stop.)

(If I had just been there—)

(Stop.)

(….B—)

(Stop.)

….Okay.

I’ll stop.

So there I was, in the Edge again, standing idly on a day that thought about snowing. The wind was already throwing its frozen little spit-particles around, the tinest, most annoying sleet imaginable—not enough to actually penetrate your fur and make you wet, but just enough to flutter into your eye when you dropped your guard. My breath fanned out in front of me in a billowing cloud as I stood there, waiting for—

--for someone I guess, or something, some sign, some anything to tell me that I was supposed to be here (that it was right for me to be here—)

(Stop.)

(It was his daughter--)

(Stop it.)

It….

(…)

…

(…stop.)

I stopped.

I sighed and I felt Sparkmarrow on my side rattle with my sides moving and something sick rose in my gut and you (sorry, Cheek, Cheek, I’m not speaking for him anymore) kneaded his claws in my skin and I sighed again and shook my mane and I stood there in a biting wind and the fake-sleet and I froze and waited and froze and waited.

I was in the Edge again. Please don’t ask me why.



[SKULKING AROUND THE EDGE someone say hi to her :| ]
"talk" 
"Chico"