WITH SOMBER THOUGHT

Jendayi does not need to think of much. She had once smelled scents upon the entrance to the grove but they had quickly been overwhelmed by the aroma of fruits and flowers. The wind and sky were adamantly beautiful, and it still carried with it the soft chill from the northlands without it overpowering the cold. The flowers and branches of shrubbery swayed all around her, and sometimes even bent down far enough to tickle her pale nose, eliciting a soft giggle. She closed her eyes, and found the ideation of drifting off into a blissful slumber far too tempting—but even Jendayi knew in the back of her mind she could not allow her sense of safety to falter because this place seemed like paradise (but likewise, she thought, what sort of ferocious beast could ruin this? She would be content to die here, if she must—it were a fitting grave). 

She does not first notice his approach, however, until his voice breaks the delicate boundary of her distracting thoughts. She inhales sharply, and the eyes she didn’t know she’d close flutter open, revealing deep gold. She quickly turns in one fluid movement until she is on her belly, and then slowly pulls herself into a sit. There, she sees him, standing among the fruits and flowers. You have the look of one that has recently escaped winter's grasp, he says, and Jendayi’s gaze rests neutrally on him, as well; she had long mastered the art of stoicism, but deep down, Jendayi was a truly neutral creature herself. She cared little for the thoughts and trifles of man where there was much more to learn, more much to experience. “Is it that obvious?” she asks, and there is the faintest bit of humor on her tone—but it does not spark in her eyes the way it perhaps should. (Inside, however, she was feeling oddly thankful; perhaps it was due to the invisible, generous sabrecat).

Perhaps luckily (or unluckily) for Amon, Jendayi was a woman of few words. She did not often seek to overwhelmed others with pleasantries and smalltalks, and thus took no care in officially introducing herself, or in asking for his own name (it was always understood by her that she would be allowed what information they were willing to give, but only on their own accord). He does not seem angered by her presence, so Jendayi assumed this land was still yet unclaimed, and her presence was not intruding nor unwanted. She did not move, did not appear aggressive but neither unaggressive—it was some blissful middle, some content (almost too content) demeanor she’d long learned would often frustrate the most boisterous of wolves. But this one seemed different; there was something else. Part of her was intrigued, and part of her wished not to even try to understand it.