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house.
    Not exactly tame. Not exactly wild. Just
like da said.
    Darse shivered as a slight breeze stole up
from the stairway and swept upon his bare chest. He closed the door
with a hasty crash, and fumblingly clicked the lock again in place.
He flopped the rug flat and slid the table to its original position
as if the semblance of order might somehow restore his mind. It was
early morning, but he stepped to the stores cupboard and retrieved
a smooth brown bottle. He poured himself a liberal amount and
stared at the mug in a frozen stupor.
    A wolf in my house. From the portal
downstairs. From Massada.
    His fingers found the mug and he drew it to
his lips. The liquid seared his throat but warmed his belly, and he
felt the heat travel to his limbs and relax them. His breathing
evened from the quick rasps, and he took another sip. He shook
faintly as he peered down at the silver key resting upon the wooden
table. It gleamed up as though it expected answers.
    Could Veronia really know Bren? Or is that
still just a dream?
    He pushed the cup away, but only after
another hasty gulp. It stung his senses even while it soothed them.
He knew what he must do.
    ~
    Darse sat before the fire, thankful for its
blinding heat. His face seared under the surge of hot air, but his
back still ached and clenched from the greedy chill behind him. He
wrapped his old afghan absently around his shoulders and mused.
    His small house creaked as the night air
crept in and the wood settled for the evening. It was nearing
twilight, and Darse had several candles and an oil lantern ready
should he need to leave the blazing light of his fire. Absently, he
stoked the flames. Sparks and smoke jumped and flickered, but he
gave them little notice.
    Can I truly think to leave him? Can I live
without him? He is practically my—
    “You’re not being fair,” Brenol said again.
His face flushed a crimson that highlighted his freckles and
ruffled red locks.
    “It just isn’t that simple, Bren. It’s not
simple at all.”
    The conversation was not unfolding how Darse
had foreseen, and now his gut began to tighten and knot. My past
is tied to this strange other world, but my present is so twined up
in this boy, Darse thought. I know I must go, but…
    “Then explain it.” Brenol narrowed his eyes
into a glare and fixed it upon the older man. All the boy could
feel was anger, stirring and boiling hotter.
    Darse again prodded the logs, wishing his
tongue would find the words. To reveal the truth to Brenol would be
a breach, but to be silent was a tarnishing of love. He could only
choose the former, yet his long-held silence made that path
unfamiliar and excruciating.
    “Stop poking it, old man!” Brenol fumed. In
the small home, the shout seemed blaring.
    Darse’s sea-blue eyes lifted. The dark jade
of Brenol’s flashed, and the accusing glance wrenched Darse’s
stomach anew. The youth’s thin face appeared almost gaunt in the
shadowy evening.
    “If…” Darse began.
    “If?”
    Darse sighed. “It’s not so easy to speak of
this. I’ve held it inside my whole life.”
    When Darse did not continue, Brenol asked
through clenched teeth, “Can you at least tell me why you
can’t tell me?” The words felt imbecilic rolling from his lips, but
he could barely control himself in the crashing inner tide of
fury.
    The older man glanced thoughtfully at the
crackling flames. “There are several reasons,” he began.
    Darse thought back to his own childhood, to
his father revealing the secret of the portal and the other world.
In that moment, the mystery had drawn his mouth open in a soft “oh”
of understanding. Sim had suddenly fit in the young Darse’s mind
like the pieces of a jigsaw smoothing together into a single
picture.
    Perhaps I’ll make sense to Bren too now, in
a new way.
    And you think he’s as introspective?
Darse, don’t be a fool, the man chided himself.
    Despite his remonstrations, Darse knew he
could be silent no more. He had shared his