The trolls are evil, Tristan wanted to reply, but something held his tongue.
“They are greedy, devouring creatures. Banished long ago from civilization. It was said that they charmed their prey to isolation with beguiling lures. Then they would kill and eat those that fell to their traps. They are also tricksters. They would throw avalanches just for the joy of crushing the innocent. They stir up the gods to anger who would fling their wrath unjustly at the people instead of the trolls. They are enormous and strong as stone when they want to be. They flee the sunlight and turn to stone when they die. Three trolls were known to drag a ship into the bay at Reynisfjara. Everyone on board the ship drowned as they jumped overboard to escape. The trolls are cruel,” he said, reflecting upon the person who raised him. He’d not always thought of his grandfather as cruel, but that was only when he’d assumed Tristan was like him. The moment the wolf within began to wake, it was like Tristan never existed.
“We tell stories of the Yule lads, trolls who reward well-behaved children with treats at christmas. Tales to charm the innocent into thinking them harmless and fun. There are so many other things that we take for granted. The Land Wights, whale-wizards, griffins and dragons, elves and Huldufolk. They all have their place.”
These things were a part of the fabric of his home as the rocks, crevices, waterfalls and volcanoes. Yet no where in the stories were there wolves. The animal didn’t even exist on the island. Nor did snakes or spiders. They never made it to their devilish shores. What was a wolf to them but a fairy tale? What was when the blood of mortal enemies found themselves sharing the soul of the same being?
“My fate will be worse than the trolls,” he answered. Because even if he ended his life bound to the rocks, the war within would never cease. He closed his eyes like blocking their surroundings would hide his thoughts. It was why he wanted to atone for what he was while he still walked the earth. He had a chance to help those otherwise without help. Maybe the gods would show mercy when the hour of judgment came. Thalia was right in that regard.
“I do not regret my being. I will prove to the gods that I am worthy. Perhaps they will pity me,” he said. A hint of a smile grew beneath the wisps of his beard and he pat her head in mixed token of appreciation and affection.
Her tender kiss was unexpected. He’d tasted those lips in the dream, and it felt like another life. In the waking world, she was flesh and blood. She was warm and vulnerable. It was like they were completely different people.
He returned the affection with guarded gentility. He didn’t want to bruise her tender arms with a strong grip holding on for life. Nor did he want to scare her with intensity of desire that he’d known in the dream. Then there was Sierra, who waited outside in bond and trust. There was no excuse of a soul wandering unchecked in the dream as kissing another woman had in the waking world. He’d made no promises to monogamy, but after their recent reconciliation, a sense of guilt crept in. But neither did he stop the kissing. Thalia was sweet and strong, a mother-goddess of nurturing vitality. And for all that he was, Tristan was also a man.
“They are greedy, devouring creatures. Banished long ago from civilization. It was said that they charmed their prey to isolation with beguiling lures. Then they would kill and eat those that fell to their traps. They are also tricksters. They would throw avalanches just for the joy of crushing the innocent. They stir up the gods to anger who would fling their wrath unjustly at the people instead of the trolls. They are enormous and strong as stone when they want to be. They flee the sunlight and turn to stone when they die. Three trolls were known to drag a ship into the bay at Reynisfjara. Everyone on board the ship drowned as they jumped overboard to escape. The trolls are cruel,” he said, reflecting upon the person who raised him. He’d not always thought of his grandfather as cruel, but that was only when he’d assumed Tristan was like him. The moment the wolf within began to wake, it was like Tristan never existed.
“We tell stories of the Yule lads, trolls who reward well-behaved children with treats at christmas. Tales to charm the innocent into thinking them harmless and fun. There are so many other things that we take for granted. The Land Wights, whale-wizards, griffins and dragons, elves and Huldufolk. They all have their place.”
These things were a part of the fabric of his home as the rocks, crevices, waterfalls and volcanoes. Yet no where in the stories were there wolves. The animal didn’t even exist on the island. Nor did snakes or spiders. They never made it to their devilish shores. What was a wolf to them but a fairy tale? What was when the blood of mortal enemies found themselves sharing the soul of the same being?
“My fate will be worse than the trolls,” he answered. Because even if he ended his life bound to the rocks, the war within would never cease. He closed his eyes like blocking their surroundings would hide his thoughts. It was why he wanted to atone for what he was while he still walked the earth. He had a chance to help those otherwise without help. Maybe the gods would show mercy when the hour of judgment came. Thalia was right in that regard.
“I do not regret my being. I will prove to the gods that I am worthy. Perhaps they will pity me,” he said. A hint of a smile grew beneath the wisps of his beard and he pat her head in mixed token of appreciation and affection.
Her tender kiss was unexpected. He’d tasted those lips in the dream, and it felt like another life. In the waking world, she was flesh and blood. She was warm and vulnerable. It was like they were completely different people.
He returned the affection with guarded gentility. He didn’t want to bruise her tender arms with a strong grip holding on for life. Nor did he want to scare her with intensity of desire that he’d known in the dream. Then there was Sierra, who waited outside in bond and trust. There was no excuse of a soul wandering unchecked in the dream as kissing another woman had in the waking world. He’d made no promises to monogamy, but after their recent reconciliation, a sense of guilt crept in. But neither did he stop the kissing. Thalia was sweet and strong, a mother-goddess of nurturing vitality. And for all that he was, Tristan was also a man.