style="font-size:15px;"> Lavender has already turned herself and is moving toward the sea again. She offers no answers, nor consoling colors to keep the dark browns of sadness from me.
I stop her at sea’s edge, turn my head, wet my eyes and look up at the endless blue around.
The bigshinegray rises on frantic tails of light, growing small and smaller to face’s eyes as it finds some tiny hole and disappears.
The swarming begins inside me. Thoughts mumble, then shout, then roar. They raise my head even higher, enter my throat with their peak of roar—
And my throat begins to rumble, becomes a rattle that shakes my head and pounds against my own soul’s bellowing hatred.
For the first time in a million days one of my kind is speaking in the oldest way—using flesh of throat to show the oldest hatred, the oldest violence, the desire to kill flesh with flesh, souls with bodies....
And I know now that I will begin to wait. Perhaps I will die before the day arrives, but I will wait and wait for the scalesouls’ return, for the day I will kill or be killed.
I enter the water, and enter sleep.
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