RP Lynx


Malachite arrived in mid-February. The driveway had been shoveled recently, but there was still a small amount of fresh snow that reached all the way to the house. However, Malachite wasn’t concerned about that as he was driving the Jeep. He parked smoothly behind the pickup truck that waited in the driveway.

When he stepped out of the Jeep, he was bundled up like there was no tomorrow. A long-sleeved shirt over a wife beater, a thin black hoodie over that, and then a knee-length black trench coat that barely fit him in the shoulders. He had a scarf wrapped around his neck, and a pair of thick gloves on his hand. A thick beanie adorned his touseled brown hair. Unlike his brother Sulphur, Malachite was very susceptible to weather.

He stomped through the snow, humming happily as he moved. After all, Mal had everything to be happy for. He had his brothers, who were mostly in one piece. He had Katherine, and their new apartment where they had just moved in together. He now had Lapis, the young girl he wanted to help find her footing again. All in all, Malachite had every reason to be as happy as he was.

This was why when he got to the porch of the cabin, he tapped his shoes off carefully of the icy snow before knocking enthusiastically on the door. “Hello, is anyone home?”

His voice was smooth as he called out, his tone cheerful. He looked around the place, which was surprisingly well put together, while he waited for whoever was at the door to open it.​
 
“I’ve got it!”

LJ’s voice would be muffled through the door, and was followed by the sound of footsteps crossing the house, a little heavier than strictly necessary and almost definitely ending in a slide of socked feet on hardwood flooring.

The smell of apples, cloves, cinnamon, and orange peel wafted out the door as it opened. Framed in it wasn’t Madeline Snow Owl, but a tall, narrowly built young man, his eyes the same bright blue as the winter sky and framed with dark eyeliner that wasn’t quite the same black as his long and curly hair. He had a wide, somewhat lopsided grin and an open face that suited his buffalo-plaid fleece and faded blue jeans. His smile faded just a little, mostly in surprise at the person on the other side. He took the man in at a glance, but didn’t change his posture or his expression much beyond that.

“Hey,” LJ said, his eyes finding the other guy’s face again, measurement apparently complete. “What can we do for ya?”
 

Malachite quickly took in the young man’s appearance before smiling brightly. His own eyeliner was sharper than the younger man’s, with a clear line that reached out from the corner of his eyes, extending them by almost half an inch. He might have judged the kid’s simple waterline look, but not enough to actually comment or do anything other than keep his bright smile.

The kid was taller than him by a hair, and built far thinner. The bright blue eyes on the tanned face with the black curls were a touch surprising, but then who was Jasper to talk, with his eyes so between honey and chocolate on his deep skin?

“You must be LJ! My name is Malachite. I was hoping to speak to your mother. Is she home?”

He paused when he smelled the scent inside the house. Apples, cloves, cinnamon– cider? God he hadn’t had cider in so long. A short memory of his mother’s hands guarding him through the process of stirring a big pot came to mind. However, when he looked up at her to smile, her face was gone. There was nothing but a blur there. He shook himself from the thought, though his smile became a touch softer, a touch less strong, as the memory tainted the moment.

“I’m here to convince her to join the revolution and all of that.”​
 
In the kitchen, Mandy tilted her head toward the front door. The breeze carried in the strong but subtle scents of masculine cologne. She paused in ladling out the cider, then sighed softly and took a to-go cup out of the cupboard.

“Malachite,” the younger Snow Owl said, not quite dubiously. He’d spoken to the last rock-themed person to visit, and Mom had told him about Slate’s proposition. She wouldn’t take it. That seemed obvious to LJ, but then again, he’d spent so much time with her, and he’d been welcomed into the same community despite only being a quarter Anishinaabeg himself. Revolution wouldn’t really resonate with her. And the revolution they were talking about – well, he might have Wintekowa blood, but for all intents and purposes, LJ was as human as his father was White.

Malachite wasn’t completely White either, and he probably wasn’t – no, that wasn’t right. He was metahuman, and ‘human’ was right there in the name. LJ hadn’t met any other people who qualified as metahuman outside of his mother, but he did know that Slate wasn’t likely to have any wendigos. They wouldn’t need to pester Mom if they did.

LJ turned his head back toward the kitchen, one hand idly pushing some of the frizzy hair behind one ear to reveal a double-pierced lobe, currently unadorned. It also gave a glimpse of his nails, painted a dark brown that was almost black, but not quite there. The kind people narrowly avoiding accusations of emo would wear.

“Mom–”

“Kitchen!” was all Mandy said, and LJ understood. He stepped out of the doorway, with a small wave for Malachite to follow.

He was stopped at the entrance to the kitchen by Mandy pressing a lidded coffee cup into his hands. Her hair was pulled up in a tight bun today, and her smile was warm, but had a slight edge to it that didn’t make it through to her voice.

“Hello, Malachite, it’s a pleasure to meet you.” She turned her head back toward her son. “LJ, why don’t you take the truck down to the reservation for the afternoon?”

He frowned at her, eyes suspicious over his smile. “I’ve got that paper on Titus you wanted by–”

“You can write the paper at Marc’s house, or at the library in Walker.” She still sounded calm, and she even laughed a little as LJ relaxed. “And I can be a little more lenient about the due date. You have been on top of it.”

He understood, of course. He wasn’t sure why she needed him to go, but it wasn’t often she kept him out of something. If it was dangerous, she wanted him safe. If there was a problem, she would take care of it. And if he needed to know, she’d tell him after, just like last time.

“Alright, Mom. I love you.” He took the coffee cup out of her hands, and kissed her cheek. He grinned again at Malachite, but there was mischief in his eyes now. He went so far as to clap the stranger on the shoulder as he walked past to collect his coat and boots and backpack. “Good luck, man. You’re gonna need it.”

As he disappeared around the corner, Mandy finally released another soft sigh, and looked at her visitor – really looked at him, with her dark eyes meeting his brown ones, taking him in. Her smile never faded.

“Are you in a rush, or do you want to come sit? We made cider.”
 

Malachite chuckled as the kid clapped him on the shoulder, then turned his full attention to Ms. Snow Owl. He gave her a once over, but no further. His eyes held hers as he gave her a shrug. The temptation of cider was one that made him pause, then brightly smile. He began to unwind his scarf and remove his coat, hanging them politely from the hooks on the wall. “You know what, that would be wonderful! I can’t remember the last time I had cider!”

It was a lie, but he wasn’t about to divulge such a personal memory to complete strangers. Instead, he strode into the kitchen and took up space leaning against the counter by the dish cabinet. He hummed softly as he looked around. Unlike his brother, his eyes didn’t skip over the portraits of LJ and his mom. He took in each one, his smile growing into a full grin.

“There’s a lot of love in this house, isn’t there.” He said it in a matter-of-fact way, and not as a question. “You can just feel it. It’s so warm and calm in here.”

The smell of cider, the warmth of the fireplace, the happiness that seemed ingrained in the very wood itself, well it was enough to banish the sadness that had come with the memories. He turned his attention back to the woman and then with laughter in his voice, he asked, “What do you prefer to be called, Ma’am? Wouldn’t want to offend you.”​
 
Her smile still didn’t fade, but it softened at the edges from purely polite to gentle and pleasant. Her instincts told her that this one was going to be no trouble. He might have a bit of sharpness, a touch of rage under his skin, but this one – Malachite, a face to the green stone figure in her heart – did not resist the warmth of the home she had built. There were none of the walls, none of the tension she had sensed in Sulphur.

“Anything but ma’am,” she laughed in return. As she stepped back to the counter, she picked up a spoon and measured out brown sugar into the two steaming mugs she’d already prepared. She put a smaller spoon in each, then carried them both to the breakfast room table. “Mandy is just fine, though.”

She knew he’d lied to her about the cider. It sounded off, a shift in tone that didn’t fit his body language, or maybe a skip in his heartbeat. She was once fascinated with the details that told her more than words. Now, she was used to it. And she didn’t ask why he’d lied; if he wanted to address it, he would, in time.

Instead, she waited for him to sit down, then took the seat beside his at the round table. “So, Malachite, to get it out of the way. You are from Slate, and your brothers thought you’d be better than Sulphur for persuading me to join the revolution.”

She didn’t mock. That was important. No more than when she was preparing for LJ to rant about something that had happened on the reservation, or some moment in history he chose to ruminate on. She’d be prepared to deflect or discuss, but argument would only feed anger. She hoped it wouldn’t end in anger. After her conversation with Sulphur in December, there was a little worry that the next person they would send would have more aggression in him, less patience. While Malachite didn’t strike her as the type, she could still smell it on him, the same way he smelled like expensive cigarette smoke and black pepper, residual but present, telling the story of where he had come from.
 

“Mandy! Well, Mandy, it’s great to meet you.” Malachite took a seat at the round table and accepted the mug. He tucked one of his boot-covered feet up and under him, removing his gloves. He set them to the side and picked up the mug once more, sighing at the warmth that flooded through his body. He let his eyes rest closed for a moment, humming for a moment before they shot wide open and he gave her a bright smile.

He stirred the spoon in the cup and then took a sip of the hot cider. Apples and oranges and cinnamon all assaulted his senses, and he sighed happily. That more than brought him back to another memory, this time of carrying a heavy basket of five apples, following along behind two tall people through a field of trees. Once again, their faces were missing, but the feelings of love and warmth were still there, so this time, he didn’t feel quite so sad.

“Hmm, you’d be right. They think I’m going to convince you somehow where Sulphur couldn’t. Not sure why they think that’s going to happen.” The young man flipped his ruffled hair out of his eyes and smiled brightly, the ring in his lip flashing. “Listen, you and I both know that no matter how much I pester you, this isn’t going to go anywhere. I could threaten you, I could threaten your son, but even then, you could possibly take me, so I don’t think I’d want to try that even if I were inclined to.”

He took a long, deep drink of the cider, clearly enjoying himself. Then, he shook his head, a serene smile on his face. “No, I’d much rather just spend the day talking to you, if that’s alright. I’d like to get to know you.”​
 
Unlike Sulphur, Malachite acted like more boy than man. His voice, his body language, his smile, they were all the hallmarks of youth. She didn’t see Lyle when she looked at him; she didn’t even see LJ. Some of LJ’s friends had the same devil-may-care attitude, fenced in with well-trained manners.

She liked Malachite. She was sure that was the point. She smiled knowingly, and took a sip of her own cider. The warmth spread throughout her body, and sank down into her bones, keeping the chill in.

“You can stay as long as you’d like, Malachite,” she said, and she heard LJ quietly close the front door behind him. “And you can ask whatever you’d like. I’m an open book.”
 

Malachite’s face brightened even more, his eyes taking on a mischievous grin. “What’s it like?”

A morbid question, a dark question, said with all the brightness that he could offer. It wasn’t meant to be an uncomfortable question, not one meant to be offensive either. He was simply curious about what it was like to be a wendigo, what it was like to have to be a monster. Malachite had had his fair share of horrific things done to him. But he had never considered himself a monster, not even when the human scientists had insisted he was one.

He had only the faintest idea from Ethan, who didn’t enjoy talking about being a “monster”. None of them were monsters. Malachite didn’t believe in monsters. And that was why he didn’t ask what it was like to be a monster. Because in his opinion, Mandy was not a monster.​
 
“Not much different from anyone else.” She took a sip of her cider. “Colder, most of the time. There’s a dull ache. It’s everywhere. That’s the hunger– like the gnawing ache in your stomach when you’ve gone just barely too long without food, except in all your bones and joints and organs.”

She ran one hand over her arm, tracing the bone that throbbed in gentle time with her heart, invisible under her skin. Her skin itself tingled in response. The rest of her instincts were well attuned from frequent exposure to people; she was in no danger of harming those around her, at least not now. She could tell him about her senses, of course – she could ask him if he knew he smelled like someone else with a peppery scent. But she would leave it be, for now. If he asked more, she would tell him more about her monster.

Instead, she drank more cider, and continued, “But I go to the store in Walker. I attend a knitting group at the library. I watch When Calls the Heart and Supernatural with my son in our living room. I read Joanne Fluke and Nora Roberts. My life is mostly normal. I have my community to thank for that.”
 

Mal took a long drink of his cider and then smiled. “This really is good stuff. Can I have your recipe?”

He stirred his spoon and looked up at the woman with suddenly serious eyes. His soft and playful demeanor changed into one of utter seriousness and thoughtfulness. His eyes searched hers, and then, in a soft voice that had a weight to it that none of his other words had had, he questioned, “Aren’t you afraid you’re going to hurt people?”

He stopped playing with the spoon and leaned forward on his arms, leaning in close to Mandy. “Aren’t you terrified that you’ll hurt someone you love? How do you deal with that? Does your son know what you are?”

A sudden onslaught of questions, all asked with a severity that hinted at how important these answers were to him. He was so focused on the questions that he missed the feeling of his skin turning over, becoming the same ceramic that the mug was made of. He caught it after the fact, as he looked down at his hand. He sighed and relaxed, willing his body to return to its proper state. It was still hard to control it when he stopped thinking about it. His body’s natural response to materials he touched was to become them. “Sorry.”​
 
Mandy smiled and just nodded when Malachite asked for her recipe. She didn’t interject, not with words. She felt the shift of mood before it crossed his face.

“Afraid? No. No, not afraid. Concerned? Yes. It’s always a risk. But to be afraid, to hide from what I am, is more dangerous than to embrace it. It’s easier to control something you have a grasp on.”

She took another drink of her cider. The warmth started to spread outward.

“That is partly why LJ knows. It’s part of us, both of us, and he needs to be ready just in case.” She shook her head. “Even if that wasn’t the case, he’d need to know, yes. It’s safer for him to know than to be caught blind. He knew something about it earlier. How couldn’t he? But I sat him down when he turned fifteen, and told him everything.”

A wistful sigh, and she watched Malachite’s skin shift back. She had noticed the change in the first place, but she didn’t say anything. She didn’t need to. “You have no reason to be ashamed of what you are here, Malachite. ‘Monstrosity’ is a choice, not a state of being. If I spent all my time worrying and apologizing, I wouldn’t be able to do much else.”

She tucked a gray strand of hair out of her face, as she let that sink in. Then, she continued where she had left off. “It’s taken time to learn how to control it, but I’ve had help doing so. No, it hasn’t been easy. Nothing worth doing is. It does lurk in the corners of my personal life. I know by scent how angry you are. I know you spend most of your time with Sulphur, with someone who smells like black pepper who I have to assume is your other brother Obsidian, and with a girl who smells like flour and yeast. I instinctively know I couldn’t ambush and kill you based on your body language, not the way I could an ordinary human, but there’s a chance I could catch you by enough surprise that if you were a threat to me, I could beat you.”

She held up a finger, before he could interject.

“But because I don’t want that, it doesn’t matter. Because I am not defined by what I am, but what I choose to do. And I choose to sit here and drink cider with you. That’s the best way to deal with it – making choices. And making sure the people around you know enough to inform them to protect themselves, just in case.”
 

Malachite ran a hand through his tousled hair, bringing his beanie off his head and setting it down on the table with his gloves. He ruffled his hair again as he thought about whether or not to explain why he was asking. It seemed she had an idea of what was going on. He looked down at the cup of cider, took another long drink, then sighed.

“There’s this girl. Katherine Dupont. Normal as can be, sweeter than honey, and completely in love with me. We just got an apartment together. She doesn’t know what I am, and she doesn’t know what I do for work. She thinks I work for Stonewall, Obsidian’s security company. She doesn’t know that I’m basically a glorified mafia enforcer. She doesn’t know I’m… a meta.”

He set the mug down, sighing again. Mal had a tentative look on his face. He swallowed and his jaw worked a bit. “I want to tell her. I’ve been given permission to tell her. You see, Obsidian doesn’t like normal people, but even he likes Katherine. I just… I don’t know how to tell her. I worry that she… won’t like it. That she won’t love me anymore.”

He flashed a grin again, his face brightening back up. “I have been lying to her for two years. I wouldn’t blame her for leaving me. I wouldn’t blame her for being angry. I would take her anger over her leaving me.”​
 
“You seem to know you’ve already made the biggest mistake: lying to her.” Mandy sighed, then shook her head. He did confirm what she already suspected about Slate – that they were more than a revolutionary group. They needed funding somehow, after all, and they did not just take ‘no’ for an answer.

That was a problem for another day, however. Another messenger. Malachite had already accepted her refusal. All he wanted in return was advice.

“I don’t like when people leave the second half of that word off. Metahuman. You’re still a person, Malachite, even if you are different.” She drank a little more cider. It was cooling, but the mug was half empty by now. “Your abilities are just a part of what you are. They don’t define who you are. If she doesn’t love you because of your abilities, then she never loved you in the first place, and is just looking for an excuse to leave.”

She shook her head a little.

“The rest– is more complicated, I’ll admit. Someone finding out about your violence – that could have one of two bad reactions, or one good reaction.” She listed them on her fingers. “The first bad reaction is, well, revulsion. Violence scares people, and if Katherine is as sweet as you describe her, I assume she’s very gentle, too. If she runs away, then you have to let her go, unless you believe you could change your choices for her. If you think you could choose her soft heart over your brothers’ dream, then you have to be strong enough to make that choice.

“The other bad outcome is… difficult, because it might not seem like a bad outcome, at first. Rather than run away from your violence, she could throw herself into it, give you more of her love, almost as a reward. This could happen if she’s in tune with your emotions – a sign she’s willing to put you over her immediate reactions. But there is a good chance that, as time goes on, she’ll only want to see your violence. Violence is beautiful in its own way, after all. We watch eagles and foxes when they hunt. But she may find you more beautiful in your violence than out of it, or may come to conflate you with it, and become repulsed by you when you’re gentle.

“The good outcome is a combination of the two bad outcomes – a balance, a middle ground. She can acknowledge what you are, without losing who you are in it. She can love you despite the violence, and she will try to make you better through her love. If you want to love her in return, you would have to give in return. She probably won’t ask you to give up everything, from what you’ve told me. But some of it, enough for her to be comfortable, to know you’re safe and to know you still believe, in your heart, that your violence is for the greater good.”

She took a deep breath, despite having spoken slowly. She was winding down, but there was a bigger point to make.

“But you can’t keep lying to her. She’s going to find out, if you stay together. Whether she comes or goes is up to her, but whatever her response is, it will be worse if she finds out on her own. Believe me.”
 
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Mal– no, Jasper listened. And he listened. And when she was done, he kept listening. Because what she was saying was the truth, and far better advice than either Sulphur or Obsidian could have offered him. Sulphur had simply advocated for never telling her. Obsidian had advocated for– although he hadn’t used as many words– essentially stockholming her. He might have been joking, but it was hard to tell sometimes. He was always so serious these days.

Looking up from his mug, Jasper beamed across the table. “Jasper! You can call me Jasper. That’s my actual name. And thank you, that’s some great advice. I’ll go see her the moment I get home, I think. No point in putting it off, you know?”

Jasper loved Katherine with all of the heart he had left. And even the pieces he didn’t have anymore, he loved her with those too. Every part of Jasper that had ever existed was in love with Katherine Dupount. It was a soft and whole warmth that filled him every time he thought of her, that burned bright every time they were together. He knew, without a doubt, that he would give up a lot for her. But if it came down to her or Obsidian, he wasn’t sure he could choose. He didn’t want to choose.

“Tell me about your son. He seemed like a good kid. A little mischievous, huh?”​
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“I think she’ll appreciate that, Jasper.” She smiled, warm and gentle. She liked that name. It suited him much better than Malachite. Still stone, but softer around the edges. Orange, if she remembered correctly. The stone figure in her heart changed accordingly, set between yellow Sulphur and black Obsidian.

And her smile only brightened when he changed the subject to her son. “Just a bit. I can’t complain about it – he’s a good boy, smart, dedicated. Passionate. I love him, that’s all there is to it. He studies hard and passes his exams with flying colors. He’s as thoughtful and kind as his father ever was, and more. Even knowing what I am, his first concern is always for me. If he pulls a few tricks or makes a snarky comment every so often, I think that’s a small price to pay.”

Her face softened again just a little. Not sad– not quite.

“It’s going to feel so empty here without him. He’s going to Ohio State for school. He gave that a lot of thought, and his heart is set on it, but… well, it’s the farthest we’ve ever been apart. I think it’s only natural to worry, even when I can’t let him see it.”
 


Jasper smiled at Mandy, his eyes gleaming. “Sounds like a really good kid. College age already, huh? Is it weird if I say I remember being that age? Or is it weirder if I say I can’t imagine what that will be like when Katherine and I have kids?”

He leaned forward and took another drink of the cooling beverage. Honestly, he could remember college– getting his medical degree while Obsidian had paid for him to go. Obsidian, who had done too much for him. Obsidian, who had asked him for help when he’d had his bachelor’s. The man who he could never say no to. He ran a hand through his fluffy hair, but his smile never faded.

“What’s he going to go study? Has he said? I bet it’s going to be lonely here without him. Would you be opposed to– no, I shouldn’t ask that. That would be rude.” He chuckled, then leaned back in the chair. He looked up at Mandy and then looked past her to take in the photos on the wall.

He had noticed them before when he had come in, but now he looked at them with intent. He took in the smiling faces of the boy and his mother, watching as he grew older in an almost timelapse. He didn’t look exactly like his mother, but he was close enough that it was clear they were mother and son. His hair seemed to grow even more curly over the years, his eyes more blue if that were possible.

There was a happiness on his face that Jasper envied as he looked around. He wished that he had been able to experience that with his own parents. He wished they hadn’t died when they did, that they hadn’t had to give him up. He wished things could have been different for the three of them. But there was nothing for it. That was all the past and they were who they were now.

“What was his father like?”​
 
Mandy watched without comment as Jasper looked around her room. She could feel his gaze on the photographs, and she saw the shift in his eyes. The light was still there; unlike Sulphur, he didn’t seem bitter toward his family.

“Ecology,” she said, with a sigh and a shake of her head. “Technically a double major in wildlife conservation and zoology, with an emphasis and interest in large predators in the American midwest. Ohio because the large predators there are mostly extinct except for bears. He could go on and on about it. It’ll be good for him to find people as interested as he is.”

She sipped her cider. He’d asked her half another question, then stopped himself. She decided not to press. If he wanted the answer, he’d need to ask it fully. She wouldn’t impose. Instead, she took another deep breath. The shift of her eyes completed itself, softening them entirely. She set down the cider mug, and rested her arms on the table. Despite the sadness in her face, the softest smile blessed her lips.

“He’s the gentlest man I’ve ever known. That’s why I fell in love with him, you know. Soft-spoken, passionate but in a way that whispered he was afraid to impose if he said too much. He– he never meant any harm, I don’t think. Sulphur told me that you all know about– him. Us. The Redding Butcher.” She swallowed, her eyes unfocused. “I–don’t know why he did it. He was a good man, Jasper. Everything he did was for us to have a good life, a happy life as a family. He was a good father to LJ, a good husband. I can’t find it in my heart to believe he did any of it from malice. John– John Red Cloud, at the reservation, had some ideas, but…”

She trailed off. Her spirits were dampened, and she was cold to her bones. Her jaw, she realized, was clenched – tight enough that a normal human’s teeth would break. She closed her eyes and relaxed, then reopened them, feeling… familiarly hollow. Hollow as she’d felt since her teeth had crushed Lyle’s throat, and the horror of what she’d become left her immobile on the floor of the shed until she remembered her son.

Her son, with his father’s eyes and hair, who twitched the same ways and yet had none of the shyness she remembered from her husband. Who drank his coffee the same way that Sulphur did. There was something filling her heart now, and now there were several somethings.

She looked at Jasper, and smiled again, faintly. Her voice was quiet. “Why do you ask?”
 

Jasper was quiet for a moment, then he set the nearly empty mug down and his expression became a touch serious. While he had been asking for Obsidian, he was also asking for himself. He wanted to know what the kid’s father had been like, what her husband had been like, for very personal reasons.

“Don’t take this the wrong way. I never want to be like that. I never want Katherine to be like that. I want us to be old and grey and have five kids and a bunch of grandkids and I want nothing to ever go wrong. So I wanted to know if you could offer me… any insight on why you thought he might have been that way. Maybe I could use it to keep us safe.”

There was a heavy sigh, and then Jasper leaned forward onto the table, and with a weak smile, he began to explain. “It’s not my story to tell, but something happened to Obsidian that was. Not the same as you but just as bad. And I see terrible things happen to metahumans who fall in love with regular people. I don’t expect Katherine to ever do anything like this. And I would never do anything like this. But that doesn’t mean I’m not afraid of one or both of us getting hurt, Mandy.”​
 
Was this how John had felt, when a woman only pretending to be brave appeared in the reservation with a curly-haired boy in tow? Nine years wasn’t such a long time. She remembered sitting across from John at a table in his smaller, more suburban house, and venting her worries to him. Explaining her fears about her son.

“I see.” She pushed a stray iron-gray hair from her dark eyes, and shook her head with a sad smile. “I have reason to think Lyle and I were a special case. The problem between us wasn’t my being in love with him. He fell in love with me – both sides of me, the old and the new. But the problem with the new side was that he…”

Her eyes turned down to her empty mug. She paused long enough to remember what John had told her.

“Lyle was a dove. I am an owl. He was, quite literally, what I am designed to hunt. He was prey who fell in love with a predator without even knowing what I was. It… broke something in him, I think. Something in his heart, broke the tethers that told him to be afraid of me and replaced it with love that wasn’t love.” She slowly raised her eyes back to Jasper’s, and while they were damp, she had recollected her smile. She reached across the table to rest her hand on his, stroking his knuckle with her thumb, if he let her. “It’s not doomed – not always. My grandparents made it work. As far as I know, Joseph and Carol Snow Owl lived long, happy lives in this cabin. It can work. For Lyle and I, ignorance was our enemy. We didn’t know it was generational. My father didn’t think to tell me what I was, because he never was this. If I had known – if Lyle had known – things would have been better.”

She patted his hand.

“You can’t control what you are, Jasper. The hand we’re given isn’t something we can change. But it’s not something for us to be afraid of, either. If we’re afraid of it, how can we expect others not to be? No. We live, and we love each other. Gentleness isn’t easy, but our choice to be kind is what makes us human. The only one who can choose that… is you.”
 
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