Chapter 36
Other
war tastes like metal.
metal and sweat and new men in the king’s livery,
swinging swords with little grace.
it is storm-wild and snow-sharp and the king says
‘do not call it war’
but it’s not peace, this thing, strange and new;
it brings no life.
if I were there on the field if I were me
I could teach them better than that
maybe I could teach them to survive
the men he’s chosen are prey-scared,
waiting to be hunted, pretending otherwise,
and all the while the king braces himself for the loss,
a sacrifice he’s too bright and good to make.
I don’t know why he bothers with it at all
I will protect him I will protect him I will protect him –
but his kingdom is bigger than that,
bigger than his kind heart and loyalties,
and the man’s mind knows that. the wolf
only longs to prove itself with claw and tooth.
I will protect him
at night the king’s fears escape him,
slip and skitter like falling leaves,
language dissolving, too human for the wolf.
he says
‘bisclavret’
and then corrects himself, catches himself,
as though he never said it at all.
he tries to avoid it
– I wish he wouldn’t –
his shame stealing words from his lips.
I am more me when he says my name
like he gives me back the pieces of myself
his gaze that shears through men
sees only the wolf, a partial truth.
I am the worst of me
still he keeps me by him in my monstrosity
how can it be that I am allowed this
I am only wolf
he speaks of his people, a king’s love
in every word. his fear, his inadequacy, the failure
of giving them everything that he is.
I would tell him otherwise
if I had the tongue or the teeth for words
instead I only listen
‘if they invade we are lost we cannot fight their armies’
he says and
‘I am arming these men for their graves’
and
‘I will be remembered as a hero when I should be named a failure’
‘better to surrender and hope for mercy than be slaughtered where we stand’
‘I am a fool to have agreed to this’
he is no fool to me –
but a wolf’s heart will always want to fight,
always want to stand teeth bared on the margins of the kingdom.
it doesn’t matter anyway
I cannot tell him
there’s reassurance in presence
– the king knots his fingers through my fur –
he pretends he isn’t weeping
I don’t know why he pretends
he need not hide his tears from me
I am only a wolf and a wolf cannot judge a king