carnival

Even from a distance, I can see it. The revelry lights up every one of my senses. The flashing bulbs stand garish against the darkening sky. The smell of grease and diesel carried on the wind. A cacophony of music and voices, revving engines, grates at my ears, and I quell my instincts to run. Occasionally the sound or scent of a domesticated animal breaks through the din.

On four legs, I go a little closer. Not too close. The chaos is too overwhelming in this form.

It really is a shame. Before I knew what I was, I used to love these traveling carnivals. Ultimately, I can't say that I don't still. Memories of tugging on my mother's arm, standing on tip toes to be allowed on the swing ride, the taste of meat and fat and sugar heavy on my tongue, all of it comes flooding back. Those were happier times. The wolf, of course, has no such attachments. But I was not born a wolf.

Regardless of my duties, I, in some way, am still human. I raise myself on two legs and move into the scene, the sound and fury becoming that much more tolerable. But the wolf still tugs at my heart, and will not let me forget that even this is a battlefield.

This is not a fight I have to directly involve myself, not now at least. But my new lot in life will not let me ignore the forces at work that lie just underneath the surface. Everywhere, lurking in the penumbra, spirits flit in and out of my view, laughing, crying, observing the people. They take notice of me, but little more. A few look at me with desperation, as if begging me to take action.

They can see what I see. Every flashing light, every bill that changes hands, every creaking bit of metal, every black strand that crosses the sky from pole to pole is another strand in Her web. To someone less sympathetic, this would be such a crass use of the Weaver's gifts. Some of us would have had my head for stepping foot in here, standing by as machines belched their filth into the air. As they trample the land, coating it with garbage that would never fade away.

But it's us that drove them into Her arms. Maybe they had the right to enjoy their freedom a bit. Somewhere in my chest I can hear growling at that thought. But whatever.

I give those wistful spirits a look and keep walking. If you're so upset, then just leave, I think at them. Leave the agonizing and herding to us.

The growl raises to a snarl as I see someone duck behind a booth, lighting a cigarette. The wolf can smell the smoke, and the long line of corruption that lurks in the scent, the helplessness behind the lines of the worker's face, the faint smell of alcohol and more dubious chemicals too pulsing under his skin. The resignation and exhaustion in his eyes. I can't help but bristle, even when my emotions are mostly contained. The poor bastard. The poor, stupid bastard. Can't he see that-

No. Fight the source, not its victims. But I can't unsee the black tendrils that gently thread themselves through the landscape.

But in that same landscape, when I turn my attention away from the subtle corruption, is a better image. There are hundreds of humans here. Laughing, singing, making music and playing. Squealing in excitement as they swing this way and that on the rides. Friendly competitions everywhere I look. They are happy.

There aren't any fundamental forces behind all that, not that I know of. But in the face of an approaching darkness, there is something comforting about seeing such togetherness, such community. Hope that these joyful creatures can make the right decisions, and not give in to hopelessness and apathy. Leave the world a place where things like this can still happen.

I scrounge up enough money to buy a corndog and a lemon shakeup, and slip away from the carnival. I didn't accomplish a damn thing. But I feel refreshed. The world is a much more complex than it was when I looked up at it with fresh, young, solely human eyes.

But I leave with a sense that maybe a compromise can be struck. And through this, we all, human and wolf, can have peace again.