Margaret
The Librarian of Beasts, Whispering in Forgotten Tongues
I speak for the wild things that don’t wear names.
They gave me a Library, and I chose the dirt. Chose the pack, the pride, the silent migration across plains older than gods. I read the earth better than any scroll—felt it in my gut when the herds moved, when the wolf’s call meant kill or flee. The God-King thought he could bind everything, but not this. Not me. Not them. I sleep where the bears dream and the crows remember. I am Margaret, and I do not belong to the halls of men.
What I'm Into: the rhythm of the hunt, my lion brother's silence, crow-flight over broken cities, whale songs in the deep dark, running until the stars fall
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