happy endings are the hardest to fake,

The voice is warm. She feels it more than she hears it, and it reverberates in the back of her mind as the rest of the world consigns to a blissful oblivion, a blurry background where everything is out of focus. It speaks as if it does not come from the man before her—it feels detached, ethereal, as if it were without form, without existence. It feels almost like it begins from inside of her, like it is some undying beacon reminding her it’s not over yet. She couldn’t rest, not yet. She couldn’t find peace in slumber, and Torin seemed to know that, too. Yet Jendayi’s body did not want to continue on, and still did she linger in semi-consciousness, letting her thoughts and words run through. Eventually, Jendayi’s grasp on consciousness becomes firmer, and the glaze in her eyes falters. “Nnngh…” she breathes, and her voice is steady, and soft. I need you to stay awake, okay? “Okay,” she responds in the same breathless tone. With her adrenaline dissipated, and her fear long run its course, Jendayi’s exhaustion suddenly crept on her, gnashing at her heels with their sharpened teeth.

She feels his warmth, and curls into it—she tries her hardest to put most of her weight into her own paws, but cannot help but seek the lukewarmth of his fur and the comfort it brings in feeling his heartbeat, in walking beside something far more alive than she felt. He promises a meal, and a place to rest, but she can respond with nothing more than a firm nod of her head. Her paws struggle against the ice, still shivering and shaking and strained from having to fight against the pull of her own weight, the ferocious kicking and struggling against the cliff-face. She stumbles often, but manages to catch herself, if only because Torin’s reassuring presence is there beside her. She finds it suitable only after they’ve walken a few slow paces away from the trench to finally speak her name. The fog had begun to recede, and likewise, Jendayi’s vision had grown clearer, despite the dull and thrumming pain in her churning belly. “J-Jendayi,” she murmurs again, and her voice is almost drowned out by the winds. She turns her head so she may look at him, bright yellow gaze troubled and almost watery, but not out of grief. She did not care where they went, so long that, at the end of it all, she could lay her head down and fall asleep, and hope to not forget about her near-death, but instead to learn from it. She was not as invincible as she thought.