~ . elysium fields ~
Jacob/Bella T. 457
A raindrop fell from the sky, as beautiful as a diamond and as clever as a fox. Fate had already decreed its path and its Destiny was written as it landed… right on Jacob Black's forehead with a wet splash.
It was always raining in La Push.
He finds his happy moments in this place, his Elysium Fields. Nature presses around his body and soul like one of those warm woollen blankets his mother used to bring him on cold winter nights. And he is warm, so very, very warm. He can feel the anger, the hate, and the fear as it eats at him while the rain pounds down in the middle of the forest, slipping through the top most branches of the trees to fall upon him…
And the young werewolf's tears fall with it. They drip down to the Earth, casting his face and heart into shadows. He is letting go now, in this place, where no one else can see.
Bella. Bella. Bella. Bella! …not much longer until she's gone…
Jacob finally lets his precious control down, letting the human half of his soul slip away and fade into nothingness like a feeble thought. He feels the warmth of fire burn through his limbs and he knows the pain doesn't matter. Nature is consuming him, protecting him, and he is on the brink of Heaven, waiting just outside the golden gates.
He is with nature, and nature is with him. He is part of the rain and part of the wind, an unformed cloud sitting peacefully over a green forest.
The wolf is in rapture-the scents so much stronger, the softest sounds like thunder. Pale sunlight shines down and warms his red fur, making him shiver with delight.
The water is only wet now, no longer cold through his thick shaggy coat. His voice is the silver bell-toned howl which pierces the sky. His paws slip and slide in the cool mud beneath his pads, and the leaves rustle in the wind he makes as he passes.
His red fur is blazing fire as he passes; the russet red of autumn leaves. The greens and browns and yellows of the forest are no more than pretty blurs to his animal eyes.
He tilts his muzzle up into the cold air which is so sensitive on his nose, and he closes his round black eyes. He smiles, in a wolfish way, at the simplicity of nature, all thoughts of human love and loss driven from his mind.
He can feel the stormy rain hit his four-legged body. His shaggy fur is drenched now, plastered flat and soaking. He loves it, the cold sending a thrill right from the tips of his claws to the roots of his hair.
And he is happiest this way, away from humanity, alone in his Elysium Fields.
first draft: 10-24-08
revisions: 10-16-09 & 6-25-12