And with it, the air changed as the light shifted something. We feel it, the tingle of it. A little snap as it twitches through our spines.
Perhaps it is also this that draws them near?
We watch them through the trees. Huddled and whispering, they sit together, heads tilted heavenwards.
And though we are wary, we listen, because the tales they tell are wonderful to our ears.
They talk of things we do not understand. Of colours, blue, green, purple.
We raise our eyes to the sky and catch the movement as it folds and bends, and understand it must be this they mean.
And we hear it then, a sound that is neither whimper nor howl. It crystalizes and twinkles in the air as they turn their faces to the light, their eyes sparkling with it.
Until we can no longer resist. We join them, with a howl that knows the measure of all their fears.
This story is based on an original story prompt issued for #ThePush on Twitter:
We prowled the Taiga, a ghostly light, green and ephemeral dancing across the sky. Beautiful. Haunting us. Like a howl at the moon. #ThePush
— Jennifer Harvey (@JenAnneHarvey) September 16, 2013