some thoughts

The transformation of my sister into the first Camazotz may have been one of the greatest, most defining moments of my life. It was that moment where I knew the destiny that Gaia had in mind for me: to take was lost from out of the Wyrm’s talons, and bring them home to the Great Mother. They named me Steals-From-Death when the first Camazotz to undergo the lost ritual transformed for the first time. I haven’t stopped since then. I’ve traced genealogies as far as I could, rounded up the kin who still walk the earth, and I have my eye on other leads for other breeds.

But despite that, I also wonder what it means for me to be doing this.

I’m not looking for glory. Why? Why seek glory among my kind when my kind are the reason that I even have to do this?

I’m not asking for forgiveness from the Fera tribes. I’m not saying that that wouldn’t be nice, but being forgiven isn’t up to me. It’s the oppressed who that decision belongs to, and the actions of one pack of wolves isn’t the actions of the whole. I’m painfully aware of that.

I’m doing it because it’s what’s right to do.

But despite myself, I wonder how others view it. I can never let my sister or husband hear this, they’d throttle me and never let me leave my cabin again. But I’d lay my life down in a second for the life of a whole people. Mine isn’t worth as much as the many. In fact I’d say you could find plenty of Glass Walker Ragabashes who are just like me. Identical in function.

I know what I was born into and I’m sad about it. Not enough to think it’s hopeless, but enough that sometimes I just want to stay in bed today. I don’t think it’s Harano, it’s not that extreme.

Maybe it’s just regular depression.

Yeah, that’s gotta be it.