She runs.
A flash of red in the summer green, racing against the wind in the treetops that stretch high above. Here, out of sight of the mansion, and with the rich smell of growing things, of the wet earth, filling up her nose, she is more wolf than she is girl.
And she runs.
The woods are lovely, dark and deep. The birds fall quiet as she passes. The rodents in the undergrowth freeze. The deer bolt, tails flashing white. Here, she is an echo of the past. This place has not seen any like her in quite some time. But the old trees still remember. And the animals carry their ancestors in their hearts.
Their reactions scare her. She fears herself because they fear her, God’s creatures. All of them. She must carry an evil within that they sense. Her shape unnatural, demonic. Something to be purged. So says the Reverend. So says the Bible.
But don’t prey naturally fear the predator? They fear her because it is their instinct to fear. If not God’s will that she take this shape, it is the will of nature. Something to be embraced. So says the Doctor. So says science.
The woods are lovely, dark and deep. Here, she is no one’s daughter. Not the daughter of the church, not the daughter of science. She is wild. She is the wolf that is a girl that is a wolf.
Here, she is free from everything.
Here, she is terrified the most.
And so she runs.
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