I broke Jonas’ sword and I don’t know what that means.

I wanted to do it, felt the hunger in my gut. Like breaking down a door or snapping a twig or putting your fist through spring ice. Easy, eager, energy, the satisfaction of it. The casual power of breaking.

I knew what it could mean. His skill is my skill, his sword my words. I had to show I wasn’t afraid, throw the shining blade in the pit, like Calvin, like Caliban. I am more than these.

And then I slunk away. Left him in the woods, in the snow. Rime is still asleep and he is miles away from their hideout.

Am I punishing him? Am I punishing myself? It feels like a crime but I’m not sure of the victim.

The evidence is hidden down in the shining pages, no one will ever know.

Whipped here, driven like a dog, tied to the table and beaten. This is not a confession, I’m already gone. I’m gone again, you’ll never catch me.

gray fingers on red

the cockerel is dead

black blades sing

a doggerel spring

read out the words

i’ve stolen the verbs

hold me close, love me silver

gold is dross, witch deliver