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Seanan McGuire
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The True Story Here
They'll speak of girls in cloaks like flame
That flickered through the wood;
They'll speak in riddles, hide her name,
As if they ever could
Know the secret reasons why
She ventured from the path;
Ask her now, and she'll reply
With nothing but a laugh --
They're gnawing bones in the dark of the story,
Bitter hyenas all scavenging scraps.
They're gnawing bones in the foothills of glory,
Victims of hunters and hobbled by traps.
They see a little girl, they look no deeper;
Scavengers never see anything true.
They're weaving prisons that never can keep her.
Blood burns like fire, and it always burns through.
They'll speak of wolves in twisting words
That strike and bite like knives;
They'll make their judgments, so assured
That all deceit survives
Hiding wolves in wicked skins
Their darkest sides preserved,
But what's the truth, so deep within
The wood all unobserved?
They're gnawing bones in the hope of a slaughter,
Bitter hyenas all chasing their tails.
They're gnawing bones while the red-hooded daughter
Of something far older steps free of their trails.
They see a little girl, gray wolf behind her;
Scavengers never see anything true.
They say the wolf is her death, come to find her.
Blood burns like fire, and it always burns through.
They'll speak of girls who met their fate
In shadows in the wood;
They'll say the woodsman came too late.
They never understood --
She cast her cloak and skin aside
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She fought to claim her place.
It's true, the girl they speak of died;
She didn't leave a trace...
They're gnawing bones never seeing the reason,
Bitter hyenas too blind to be told.
They're gnawing bones while the moon comes in season
All of the cubs coming back to the fold.
They see a little girl, buy her deception,
Scavengers never see anything true --
This was her destiny, sealed at conception.
Blood burns like fire, and it always burns through.
The true story here was the wolf and her mother;
The true story here was a promise once made.
The true story here was a fate to discover.
She knew what she did when she entered the glade...
The true story here was a cloak left discarded;
The true story here was too simple to see.
The true story here was the wisdom imparted
By the wolf, by my father, when he said to me...
'They'll speak of girls in cloaks like flame;
They'll offer cruel advice.
They'll tell them wolves bring only shame,
Don't listen to them twice;
They'll tell their children, never heed
The things a wolf might say...
They'll tell their woodsmen, 'make them bleed.'
My darling, come away...'
'They're gnawing bones in the depths of their loathing,
Bitter hyenas who hate what runs free.
Let them be monsters in better men's clothing;
We'll run in shadows, and always run free.
They saw a little girl; leave them to wonder.
Scavengers never see anything true.
We'll run like the lightning, we'll howl like the thunder.
Blood burns like fire, and it always burns through.
Blood is the gift of the wolf, left for you.'
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