Slash Electric

she can remember being alone.

she can remember not liking it.

she is old and her bones creak when she moves, but she has an apprentice to share her den with and wolves to care for.  she’s always been the caring sort; others might argue with this, say that her personality is all wrong for caring, but she has never cared about that sort of thing.  she cares despite what others think of her.

and she heals, and helps, and does her best.

she has always done her best.

but she is old, now.  old, with company (with pups — with grandpups, even, too), and she thinks that each day the sun rises on the horizon might be her last.  she wouldn’t be surprised if it was.  she welcomes the spectre of death, at this point; what is there to be afraid of? not much, she doesn’t think.  not for someone as old as her.

it is because of this that every night, she reminds her apprentice, “make sure to take care of yourself,” because she can’t heal anything if she can’t heal herself, first.

her apprentice always responds, “i will, i promise,” but she doesn’t think that she understands.

but she will.  someday.

she has always been quick on the uptake.