Magic runs strong in me, but power isn’t enough.
Actually, these days nothing is enough. I’ve done a fine job alienating everyone who ever cared about me from the witches in my Coven, to the man I love, to my wolfie familiar. Mother’s familiar left, winging a path to Faery. My wolf made it abundantly clear he’d have gone with her except the familiar bond doesn’t allow that level of latitude.
He howled up a storm about being stuck with me, and quit talking.
Meanwhile, the babe growing within me is equally silent. He misses Damien’s soothing voice, mandolin, and Fae love. I’m under a geas to return my son to Faery the second he’s born. Ha! They’ll have to find me first. No power words in the universe will make me relinquish my boy.
Hecate still rattles around in my mind. I’m done with her. If I hadn’t allowed her in, I’d still be in Faery with Damien’s arms around me.
Woulda. Coulda. Shoulda. Talk is cheap.
Pregnant. Nowhere to call home. No money. Nothing but my magic. Somehow, it will have to carry us through.
I'm basically a mountaineer at heart. I remember many hours at my desk where my body may have been stuck inside four walls, but my soul was planning yet one more trip to the backcountry. There's a timeless element to the mountains. They feel like old friends as I visit them, and visit them again. There's nothing like standing on a remote pass where I've been before and seeing that the vista is unchanged. Or on an equally remote peak. Mountains are the bones of the world. They'll prevail long after all of us are dust. It feels honest and humbling to share space with them. I hope I'm blessed with many more years to wander the local landscape. The memories are incomparable. They warm me and help me believe there will be something left for our children and their children after them.