It has been nearly a week, dear Diary, since Danyell and I quarreled.
He is too much accustomed to being the alpha in a pack of wolves. Sometimes, I think he forgets that I am not one of his she-dogs. I went to him for comfort, and all he could do was press for answers that I was not ready to give. Eleven years! How can a person neatly summarize the experience of so many years? How can he expect to know everything that passed while I was gone?
He says I treat him like an enemy. All I did was flinch from his touch. The simple pat of a hand may seem a trifle to some, I suppose. But does he not understand that I was in prison? Why can he not understand that? I’ve been beaten and bloodied and even kidnapped, if you can believe it. So excuse me for failing to stroke his precious ego by folding neatly into his arms. He can’t fix me. And damn his soul if he is upset with me for it.
He turned, then. His bones cracked with sickening sharpness. From the spot on which Danyell had stood, a wolf loped away into the night. Before he left, he said he needed to consult with his… something about forest spirits. He had the audacity to be troubled by my reactions. So he left me in his den, alone. When morning came, I still saw no sight of him. Strong vines guarded the entrance to the den, trapping me inside. Not until a friendly fae happened by did I regain my freedom. Imagine! He left me there, trapped, knowing where I’ve been!
We’ve not spoken since. I know I should not be angry. He did not intend to trap me in his den, at least I doubt he intended it. And, as for the rest, a part of me understands his need to comfort me. I know why he left. I know it in my bones. His suspicions are correct, but he cannot bear to voice them. He feels guilt, I am sure, for not being able to come to my rescue.
But, Diary, that is no excuse! A true friend would give me what I need. A true friend would not try to mold my needs to his.
Oh, blast. I cannot concentrate. How ever shall I mend this fence?
–Miss Palabra Puddlegum–