Awaking beside the wood, in the dusk of day,
Awake to the unfamiliar,
A gift the Night had given to set her free,
A mermaid no more.

She hears the Ocean call as it breaks on the shore,
But not for her, no not for her again,
She wiggles her toes in the fresh earth,
Breathing in the smell of relief,
And the salt of all the tears of old,
Sifting beneath the sea,
With the ghosts of every dream.

Something is in the air on the amorous eve,
Something dense, watchful, lurking with need,
And here she sits defenseless,
Pulled by the curious wood,
As she stands on unused legs and takes a step.

The Night whispers from far away,
“Do you remember how to run?
My angel, my mermaid no more,
Neither the moon, the stars, the ocean,
Nor I, can save your heart,
From the wolves in the forests of the world,
My dear one, you must remember how to run.”

The feeling familiar and yet without wings,
Could she do it once again?
One curious foot in front of the the other,
Flexing with each step,
The breeze from the ocean pushing her into the dark brush.

Who stirs in such a dark wood?
A silent, invisible hand beckons,
And with a leap of faith she sprints,
Her muscles recalling what her mind did not,
And with every stride deeper and deeper,
She could feel it drawing closer,
Maybe, beside her?

Something, was breathing,
Panting with longing,
She could not hear it but she could feel it as she ran,
Chasing her, maybe…nipping silently at her heels,
Licking its dripping lips for a taste of her forgotten legs.

And up ahead she saw it,
Lying injured by a small spring,
A spirit? An angel? A nymph? A faun?
A wolf.
An arrow in his heart.

She looked into his glowing eyes,
Helpless, near death,
Waiting for the final blow,
She extended a hand to his face,
Feeling his shallow breath.

The Night’s words in her ear, “Run!”

But she did not run,
Harmless in his injured state,
He wouldn’t dare to sneak a taste,
Gently she pulled the arrow out and kissed the hole left behind,
Her tears cleansing the wound,
Healing it from within.

“My poor soul,” She sobbed,
“My poor injured soul…”
With a finger she traced his healing wound,
And whispered into his face,
“What is your name?”

“I will tell you when you tell me why,
Why did you save me?”

“Why shouldn’t I?”

“Don’t you know?
Haven’t you heard?
I have devoured many like you…many.”

“But I looked into your eyes and saw you were alone,
So very alone, my poor soul,
Your hunger was never satisfied,
Because no one dared to consider you.”

“You are not afraid?”

She kissed his nose,
“I have faced death before,
Death does not scare me,
And neither do you.”

Through tears he smiled,
“My name is Valentine.”

“Then you shall be mine.”
She whispered as he lay his head in her lap,
The warnings from the night,
And the smell of the ocean,
All fading into the wind.