Author's Notes: originally in response to Seanfhocal challenge 9; since prose-ified.
Wild
Wild magic. It's called that for a reason.
I am the Wildmage - the Girl-Who-Is-Pack and -Herd and -Flock. I am both human and People, both my kind and theirs. (Which? Both are equally mine.) I am a link, a crossroads of kindred. I heal their wounds, speak on their behalf to humans, warn them of dangers invading their homes. I am their Protector. But - also - I infect their minds with my magic, efface their ignorance, soil their innocence - twisting their being into… into what?
I pull them into war, into danger, unwillingly - but inevitably. This is who I am - I am their Endangerer.
So he told me - Wild magic has been known to act without the cooperation of the bearer.
I know it.
Would I call my brethren from their homes, to fight for me, and die? I do not force them, but they are drawn to do so, drawn to me - cursed so, for my magic. And at times it seems to turn on me, seeking to creep into my very being (so it makes my friends more human, and me more People) - as it did once, when I ran with the pack, barefoot, ungroomed, eating raw flesh as they did - wild.
So another told me - so there are drawbacks to your power.
I know it.
Once, as I first reached to join minds with the People, he called me - a magical symbiote. But - is it true? A symbiote - or a parasite? For surely I change them, and violently - change their very natures. Perhaps the good and the evil check one another? I hope so. At least.
Am I a gift or a curse?
I suppose I'll never know.
Wild.
I whisper the word into the still and silent air. It flexes lithely over my tongue.