In the lands of my people

the drumbeat of the blood

sends us to each other—

bound by its scarlet call,

we answer to ourselves, our desires

unshadowed, uncloaked

in silence or shame, regardless

of to whom the blood gravitates us

with its magnetic pull.

 

So it was in my homeland,

O heart’s friend, that I felt you there

circling closer, nearing me inexorably

as the day drew to a close

and mantled the forest in darkness.

The daylight flamed in the west,

closing its doors and letting

night steal in to draw the bed-hangings.

 

All throughout

the chase that day,

I sensed you watching, your eye

as gray as dawn,

resting like the self-assured touch of a lover

against the back of my neck,

the barest kiss of awareness.

 

When we brought down the stag,

exultant in our shared triumph,

I could have taken you then,

sweat-covered and speckled in blood,

but I chose to let the hunt continue a little longer

until both predator and prey were subdued.

So instead I held out to you

the steaming liver of our quarry

and watched as your strong teeth

sank into the flesh.

 

I asked you then,

Would you bind yourself further,

grim-hearted one? and you

did not balk or recoil when I instead

held out my own bleeding arm.

When you had cut yourself and tied

your forearm to mine, I could feel

time shift, the Worlds still for a second

in their ceaseless spinning,

a decision made—

or perhaps it was just the ache in my groin

and the fever I tried not to let you see.

 

Then Nott

threw the hangings closed

and the sky deepened to black

overhead, the stars so radiant

that I could see your bloodstained smile

before you turned away to go wash

in the stream tumbling from the hillside,

muscles flexing under hide—

and then,

yes,

the hunt was over.

 

Your ferocious grip startled me

as much as the heat and hunger

from your mouth.

I wondered briefly exactly who

had caught whom, but then,

slowly, deliberately,

the way a maiden unlaces her shift

for the first time,

you took your mouth from mine,

lifted your face to the sky

and bared your throat, knowing exactly

what you were doing.

 

That beast who lives in me

sensed surrender, snarled and

clamped its jaws on your shoulder

to pin you down, to devour you—

Ymir’s murderer, enemy of my ancestors,

writhing in my arms as if longing were

made into a thing of nerves and skin,

my brother, my love,

impaled by my flesh, back arched—

us two mating wildcats,

 

our hunt concluded in swift and silent acknowledgment

and your spear lodged deep in my spirit.

From that day I was and am forever your fulltrui,

for good or ill, love and love’s pain,

despite the stony road before us both

and the blood and fire waiting at its end.

 

Artwork by Maris  Pái.

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