The Frozen Moon - By J.D. Swinn Page 0,32
the pizza, their topics switching fluently and quickly. They had become quite comfortable around each other, as they all had.
“So, if you could be any animal, what would it be?” she asked in a light tone. Despite the sleep that crept into the corners of her mind, she was amused.
“Any animal…that’s a tough one.” He thought for a moment longer, and then his eyes snapped back to reality with a decisive expression. “A dolphin” he said simply with a small smile. “Intelligent and protected by humans.” She couldn’t help but laugh at his choice, and began to think about the answer to the question she knew would be returned.
“I think that I would want to be some kind of bird. Like an eagle or a falcon. Flight has always fascinated me, and it would be thrilling to hunt.” Her tone was matter of fact, but even she could hear tones of excitement boiling underneath it. “We talk about strange things, I think. It’s probably my fault, though; I brought it up.” At this, she laughed.
“If we didn’t talk about strange things, then the conversation wouldn’t be nearly as interesting.”
“True” she conceded. They continued talking until the pizza arrived, by which time, everyone was exhausted. Everyone ate in near silence as eyelids became heavier, and the girls soon retreated to their room to sleep in comfortable beds again. For most of them, however, it would be a shallow and troubled slumber.
CHAPTER TWENTY: A HAUNTING PAST
The sun was astoundingly high in the sky when Talar slipped out of his deep sleep. Max and Wyd’s breathing was still rhythmic and steady, so he was careful as he stood not to wake them. His arms stretched high above his head, and he felt his abdomen muscles unfurl beneath the skin. He had slept deeply, too deeply for his liking in fact. He didn’t like being lulled into a state of unawareness; anything could happen when you were sleeping like that. The taxes of the battle earlier could already be seen and felt throughout his body, scars that told a story in as much detail as any words could. He traced a mark down his arm with his fingertip; scar tissue already welled beneath the skin like hints of green beginning to emerge in a barren field.
He quickly wheeled about to grab a t-shirt from his bag, sending a small silver object dancing through the air. He caught it just before it hit the ground, letting out a sigh of relief for the small treasure and his still sleeping comrades. His eyes were drawn to the glinting silver as though it possessed a strange magnetism. It was a small rectangle of the shining metal, surrounding a tiny picture. Brown eyes stared back at him through the glossy paper and time itself. Damn those deep, brown eyes. Time fell away from him, and his vision swirled, focused only on the eyes. The view widened to reveal what surrounded the face: a picturesque scene romanticized and perfect from the soft edges of memory. It couldn’t have possibly been this beautiful, he thought to himself, but he knew that the girl by his side was. Her hair was the exact color of sand, with that natural shine so few possessed. It hung just beneath her shoulders, straight and soft and glossy. Her fair golden brown eyes were crinkled ever so slightly in response to her bright smile, shining as they always did in her curved face. He knew that her skin was sun-tanned, but in the bright light of the unusual moon, she looked like a beautiful work of pure porcelain.
His fists clenched and teeth gritted as he was unwillingly dragged back to the Corner. His chest tightened with that familiar pain, grasping for the strength to keep it at bay. He didn’t feel his muscles swim and swell as he did when physical pain tormented this body. No, this kind of torture could not be touched with the teeth and claws that served him so well in other places; it merely sat in all it’s fine china glory upon a shelf that he could not reach, mocking him. He replaced the small picture in his bag, but could not hide away her eyes, her smile, her laugh. They burned like fire from the stars of memory across his mind.
It was then that he snapped-nearly. Talar raced from the room, pulling his shirt over his head. The bright sun greeted his eyes with knives, but he pressed on,