Page 220 of Venom Sweeter than Honey
“Well, just sit there then. Focus on the crisp, clean scent of the water. Its soothing murmur... Any time I get near water, I feel the urge to shift. Just be patient.”
My sense of urgency to find or make shelter has me grumbling my impatience, but I park my ass on a rock near the edge and close my eyes.
Patience.
I draw in a long, deep breath.
Hold...
Slowly exhale.
Direct my thoughts to my heartbeat.
Several moments pass.
My mind quiets.
Random thoughts rise, but I allow them to drift by, continuously redirecting my thoughts to my heart.
A thought arises. From where, I don’t know; and with it an emotion.
You didn’t even ask permission if you could enter the aersyan forest, this ancient, sacred place. Much less wait for an invitation.
When you go to someone’s house, you knock on the door, do you not? Or do you just barge in?
The realization makes me feel like an asshole.
And when you visit, you bring a gift—an offering in gratitude for your hosts—or do you just show up, empty-handed, expecting to be fed?
My heart twinges with a mild sense of guilt and shame.
Intuitively, I pull off my gloves and place them on the rocky, snowy, muddy shore. Energy, with startling intensity, zings up my arm and radiates through my body. Within my mind’s eye, I see a network of cords and tendrils of light. Energy surrounding us and pouring into me through my bare palms pressing against the ground.
I’m sorry.
My remorse is genuine under the weight of a realization being unveiled to me. Images flutter through my mind.Memories. Only some of which are my own—that prove just how entitled, arrogant, and ignorant we, and so many people, so many worlds, are. Blithely anthropocentric. Always taking and never giving back to the natural world as if it were created solely for their exploits.
This feeling of remorse and guilt grows in my chest as I pour the feeling of apology into the ground beneath me.
I’m not sure how much time passes.
But I have the most bizarre urge as another image rises to my mind—the cutting of hair.
But my hair isn’t long enough to cut anything more than a fingernail’s length. The realization replaces the image with that of spilled blood.
A certain sense of knowing settles over me. Has me opening my eyes and standing, withdrawing the pocket knife clipped inside my pocket.
I get the distinct sensation of being watched—not merely by Violette, Azrael, and his shadow—but by something or someone else. Perhaps many someones.
Blood wells as I draw the blade horizontally across my wrist and hold it over the river, watching as my blood trickles into its crystalline depths. When the wound at my wrist heals, stopping the blood, I pass the blade to Violette, looking between all three of my companions. “Offer some of your hair.”
She looks mildly surprised. “Not blood?”
“I get the feeling an offering of any kind will suffice so long as it is done with sincerity.”
Though I have no idea what Azrael’s shadow will offer. Unease winds in my gut as he drifts to the water’s edge and doesn’t stop. The canvas tarp-cloak floats up around him as he floats further in.
My panic starts to rise.
