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bookishwenchOriginally posted Feb. 18
Children often came and went on this island, some staying for what felt like years, others for mere minutes, but always returning to their own worlds again before their suppers became cold. They were pulled there through magic, though none of them knew from whence it came. To draw the attention of the spell, they had to have been glorying in chaos just before, the wild, unfettered, ecstatic joy of the naughty child who ignored rules and let civilizing influences dissolve like sugar candy left in the rain. Max had been most amusing, calling himself the King of the Wild Things, but of course, the title was only on loan.
Loki straightened his crown between his horns, one he had an undisputed right to wear. The moon above was full, pale as winter and larger than should have been possible. With his scaly legs, striped fur, and jet-black tail, he was unrecognizable, but it was one of the purest forms of chaos. His eyes glowed yellow in the night as the other wild things looked at him silently, their muscles quivering with the suppressed desire to let slip the bonds of control. But they waited for him. He was king here. Only he could give the signal to begin the wild rumpus.
The trees’ swaying in the sea breeze was the only movement for a long moment before Loki threw back his head and howled, the sound primordial, feral. The others joined with him, only a heartbeat behind, the sound reverberating over the water and echoing in the dreams of children in the other reality. When the last note died away, the dancing began, the giant, hulking forms of the wild things moving powerfully in the night, part monster and part animal. Trees crashed to the ground, boulders were hurled into the sea with a splash of white water, the sand was trampled beneath their feet, and the night sky rang with their victorious cries.
At length, they rested in a pile on the sand, exhausted and panting, the need for wildness expelled for now. It would return, Loki thought as he let his head rest on the back of one of the others, his claws digging into the sand in satisfaction as the pull of sleep began to claim him. Chaos could be released, but it would always build again.
Somewhere else, a little boy climbed into bed, his wolf costume hanging on a peg in his room and glittering like silver under the light of another moon. Whether Loki dreamed of the boy or the boy dreamed of Loki, let wiser beings decide.
Children often came and went on this island, some staying for what felt like years, others for mere minutes, but always returning to their own worlds again before their suppers became cold. They were pulled there through magic, though none of them knew from whence it came. To draw the attention of the spell, they had to have been glorying in chaos just before, the wild, unfettered, ecstatic joy of the naughty child who ignored rules and let civilizing influences dissolve like sugar candy left in the rain. Max had been most amusing, calling himself the King of the Wild Things, but of course, the title was only on loan.
Loki straightened his crown between his horns, one he had an undisputed right to wear. The moon above was full, pale as winter and larger than should have been possible. With his scaly legs, striped fur, and jet-black tail, he was unrecognizable, but it was one of the purest forms of chaos. His eyes glowed yellow in the night as the other wild things looked at him silently, their muscles quivering with the suppressed desire to let slip the bonds of control. But they waited for him. He was king here. Only he could give the signal to begin the wild rumpus.
The trees’ swaying in the sea breeze was the only movement for a long moment before Loki threw back his head and howled, the sound primordial, feral. The others joined with him, only a heartbeat behind, the sound reverberating over the water and echoing in the dreams of children in the other reality. When the last note died away, the dancing began, the giant, hulking forms of the wild things moving powerfully in the night, part monster and part animal. Trees crashed to the ground, boulders were hurled into the sea with a splash of white water, the sand was trampled beneath their feet, and the night sky rang with their victorious cries.
At length, they rested in a pile on the sand, exhausted and panting, the need for wildness expelled for now. It would return, Loki thought as he let his head rest on the back of one of the others, his claws digging into the sand in satisfaction as the pull of sleep began to claim him. Chaos could be released, but it would always build again.
Somewhere else, a little boy climbed into bed, his wolf costume hanging on a peg in his room and glittering like silver under the light of another moon. Whether Loki dreamed of the boy or the boy dreamed of Loki, let wiser beings decide.
