happy endings are the hardest to fake,

her heaven is only half alive
i fell asleep in his, but he could not breathe in mine

They had to be safe—they had to be at the edge. Jendayi could see the endless white fall away to the forests that surrounded the fields. It was where she had wandered in from, and while she could smell no traces of her lingering scent from days before, she was glad simply to be out of the endless, unyielding white. It had grown dizzying, so to finally see the horizon broken by the thick canopy of pine trees caused a resurgence of Jendayi’s strength and hope, no longer wondering where the sky ended, and where the tundra began. “I only need a little further,” she promised, knowing as soon as she rested, and ate, she would be able to move on her own again. As far as she knew, nothing was injured outside of cuts and scrapes and a strained paw. She’d no idea of his intention to bring her back to his kingdom—and if she knew, she’d be somewhat against it. Jendayi had always been a nomad; how she evaded such a communal and collective life had been a surprise to her as well, but she’d always been swift enough to slip through the fingers of any looking to tempt her.

Suddenly, a voice breaks the near-silence. The fluttering of wings of flocks of bird could be heard, and seen escaping from the canopy of the trees before them. Something was coming.

Jendayi had thought she had seen it all, but with each turn she was surprised. She was certain she’d never seen a wolf, or a bird, so colorful before. At first, she thought it was a dream—some hallucination that came with the tirednesss and starvation. It is only when Torin responds to it that Jendayi believes she is no longer delusional. Torin? she speaks, and Torin, likewise, repeats a name: Jewell. Accompanied is some foreign tongue hung on thick accent, something that reminds Jendayi of her own past—of the own familiar and native words that threaten to slip through. Often, Jendayi cursed in her native tongue, but always would she correct herself, even in her lonesome. Jendayi had long suppressed the language of her matron, and had left it behind as she had her home. It helped her detach, it helped her forget how she came to be, so that she no longer felt the pain of leaving it all behind.

“What’s in the desert?” she asks, the switch back to their cultural tongue far easier to understand, and no longer lost on her. Gaze slipped between Torin and Jewell, and while she remained unaggressive in her weakened state, her own wonderings and curiosity knew no bounds. If they were taking her somewhere, at least, she wanted to know. She had left nothing, and nobody behind, but the idea of losing track of where she had started was an upsetting one. She was unsure if she would remember how to return here, and how to avoid this scenario again. She’s little time to speak before he once more pries for information, and Jendayi is suddenly reminded why she does not like conversation with others. She had been perfectly content to revel in his heat and in the silence, a blissful companion of close touch, but no words—something far more tolerable. But even she cannot bring herself to snap at him. “There’s nothing to know,” she responds, but her voice is not unkind, “if you have an intention of taking me somewhere, let us not waste any time.”

The matriarch would have scolded her, but Jendayi knew better then to fetter herself to the ideals and sub-consciousness of her lessons. She had lived as far as she had without the assistance of others, and had little intention of making any more friends. Despite this, she remained thankful for them, at the very least, and continued where they wished for her to go without fighting, each pawstep becoming stronger than the last, even though she faltered every few steps.