Legacy
In some families, please is described as the magic word. In our house, however, it was sorry. Our family, in simple words to an outsider, were strange. They had a wildness to them, different energy about them. It wasn't until I was six did I realise other families were not like my own. The families of my friends were tame, to say the least. A blandness coaxed them. Where my family was made of wild magic and predators, I soon discovered other families acted like prey. From a young age I was able to connect with the darkest edges of my soul, but being so young I could only catch glimpses
of mountain ranges and forests. My mother told me it was our family's legacy. Something only us could feel, could see, could taste and sometimes, sometimes touch.
As I grew, the echoing of paws pounding into the snow covered grass was a constant rhythm, and when I danced around the room on my oldest brother's shoes or that of my uncles, the rhythm was echoed by another and become a song we could dance to. I think I was ten when I realised I felt more emotion then the others in my class, friends my own age. I was quick to anger, and the shaking that followed the fury was often accompanied by that of the sweetest bitterness of the darkest of chocolates. It wasn't just me that anger followed like a well worn cloak in wintertime. In more times then I dared to remember, I had been left with the traces of anger upon my skin, greens and purples and blues. Often the oldest of us could separate the youngest from each other if the fury
became too much, yet not all the time could flesh be saved.
In my high school years I found some that I valued, I gathered together unique individuals and made us Pack. A family that was something greater then blood. My silver furred fury was hardest to control then, because although I valued them, others did not. More often than not I would worry them, they afraid of what the consequences would be for me, because always, in the end, it were my hands covered in the blood of our enemies. Nassir is what they named my silver furred fury, their defender, their protector, their Alpha.
The more I had to watch my Pack be stressed, the more I was backed into a corner, the more I fought for them, the harder it became to control Nassir. I was the most in touch with my silver furred spirit then any in my family, there was barely a veil between us. To be that connected to something so wild, something so natural, something so instinctual, it was amazing that I had what little control I had. I admit there were times I would lash out at one of mine, but it would be quick and almost immediately locked down. But it still worried me, because they were mine, and yet the silver furred fury cared not who it hurt.
When most realised that it wasn't worth the pain, the blood, the humiliation, to harass one of mine, I did something that was forbidden of that of my family. To protect those that were mine, I would lock away that living part of my soul that was mountains and forests and wolves of silver fur. I locked away that wild magic behind human metal, so I no longer felt my silver furred fury brush fur against my mind, no longer could dance to the rhythm of my families legacy. Now, I was left with a mask of numbness to hide behind, became something less then predator and more pray, more human. But I would do it again, for them, my chosen Pack, and all I will say to that of my family is sorry, sorry I could no longer dance with them, but not once will I ever utter words of regret.