Page 73 of Into the Heartless Wood
to shed
this monstrous form,
to have a soul
planted inside of me,
that would put down roots and grow.
The wind smells of lightning, of rain.
It spits leaves into our faces.
The scent of blood grows stronger.
My sister steps into our path,
blood-dark rose petals dripping from her hair.
Owen’s pulse throbs in his wrist.
His fear is a wild thing.
His courage is stronger.
My sister says: “So this is why you hid him from us. You bring him to our mother as a prize. Or is it an offering, to atone for your sins?”
I hiss at her. “He is neither prize nor offering. His mother is the slave of the heartless tree. I have brought him to see her.”
My sister stares. This is not the thing she expected me to say.
I command her: “Let us pass. Leave him be.”
She throws back her head as she laughs. “Is he yourpetthen?”
She steps toward us.
She grazes her fingers down Owen’s cheek.
He flinches
as her claws
draw blood.
I yank him away from her.
She says: “Are you angry, little sister?”
I say: “Let uspass!”
“Or what? You will devour me?”
“I will make you wish I did.”
She laughs again, a screech of crows. “Little fool. Our mother knows you are coming. She waits for you.”
“Then come with me to greet her. Help me draw her away from the heartless tree, so Owen may bid his own mother farewell.”
