[it’s like a switch is flipped. something shutters in shauna’s expression, goes cold and detached – not like during doomcoming, when it was enhanced madness from the mushrooms and the wine, not like when she’d stood alone in the snow and covered her eyes and set her knife to his brother’s throat, when it was her slaughtering what was left of her heart.
it’s beyond. it’s her sitting in the village and sharpening her knife, looking up as he passed and seeing him as just another living beast in the forest, one she knew, one she recognized as kin, one she recognized also as meat. it’s shauna after the first winter who stands there, nearly in his arms, not like nat, snuggling into his chest, not like jackie, moaning his name, not like lottie, whispering in his ear. shauna, two graves at the core of her, looking travis in the eyes and seeing the two he carries too.]
We’re never going home, Travis. [her hands come to rest on his chest, flat-palmed, thinking of the ease with which she could crack his ribs, reach inside, draw out his heart.] I thought you’d know that by now. We are never. Fucking. Going home.
no subject
it’s beyond. it’s her sitting in the village and sharpening her knife, looking up as he passed and seeing him as just another living beast in the forest, one she knew, one she recognized as kin, one she recognized also as meat. it’s shauna after the first winter who stands there, nearly in his arms, not like nat, snuggling into his chest, not like jackie, moaning his name, not like lottie, whispering in his ear. shauna, two graves at the core of her, looking travis in the eyes and seeing the two he carries too.]
We’re never going home, Travis. [her hands come to rest on his chest, flat-palmed, thinking of the ease with which she could crack his ribs, reach inside, draw out his heart.] I thought you’d know that by now. We are never. Fucking. Going home.