Page 72 of Into the Heartless Wood
like him
until we are both
not quite human,
not quite tree,
not
quite
monster.
But I gave him my word.
I will not break my promise.
There is blood on the wind.
Can he smell it?
Has he ever felt it
sticky on his hands?
The wood hisses around us.
The Soul Eater’s men lay more iron
and the trees are angry.
I say: “Keep close.”
He steps near me.
We walk shoulder to shoulder,
my hand around his.
Grief claws up my throat.
I am not his kind.
I am a tree,
a monster.
He is human.
I want to kiss him again
but
I dare not.
I would give
anything
