The Red-Eyed Reindeer

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

Jendayi had always played the part of unfriendly because it made strangers less viable to follow, to ask, to question; but even Jendayi knew her heart ached now and then for the company she used to have. But here, their traditions and culture were different, and Jendayi knew no matter how hard she’d ever try, it would be next to impossible to fit in—not with her past creeping on her, unfurling claws dancing across her back, an ever-reminder of what she’d left behind. Thus she subjected herself to a surrendering silence, biting her tongue until a canine accidentally scored across the flesh, and caused her to hiss out at the sharp pain.

She did not know Vadim’s pain. If she did, she would have felt compelled to help him. She would have felt compelled to drop her cautious walls and shed her stoic demeanor. Always was she a victim of kindness, and it had been the one thing instilled in her that she could never leave behind, as she’d done everything else. But fate was cruel and unhappy, and so long as they kept each other further than arm’s length, Jendayi would perhaps never know. The taste of iron and fire flooded her mouth, and she glanced toward the cool stone walls, as if it could do something to help.

His voice breaks her unyielding silence. Are you sure you're not hungry? he asks, and Jendayi turned her head to seek his gaze once more. Golden eyes seek the deeper apricot of his. You are hungry, Jendayi, don’t be a liar. Her stomach rumbled even more at the sight of the meat; he inches it closer, and at first, Jendayi’s fur raises at the nape of her neck where it is thickest—not out of fear, or aggression, but instead out of an unknown instinct; like a cat who’s stepped far too close to another for the very first time. It was timid, almost maidenly; cautious, and wild. But eventually, she agreed. She was stubborn, but she was no fool. “Ah…maybe not…,” she admits, and slowly reaches forward, grasping the doe in her jaws and pulling it the rest of the way to her so he did not have to.

It was far too tempting to scarf down the doe in a more wolfish manner, but there was an acute shyness about her that stirred as gentle bites, purposeful chewing. It would take her eons to finish the doe, but it provided a sense of elegance Jendayi did not know she possessed. It kept her, simply, from looking like an outrageous fool (one she’d already suspected she looked like). It went without a doubt that he was not going to leave, and that, perhaps, he was going to spend even through the night. Some tugging remnant inside of her almost compelled her to move closer, to settle next to him, to share words and thoughts as she may once have. These people aren’t so close, she reminded herself, having quickly learned the concept of personal space was much more catered to here than they were in her own homelands. The tempting thought was quickly pushed aside, and Jendayi remained against the frigid wall, attempting slowly to warm it with her own body heat.

Eventually, she finished the meal, but even that did not seem enough. “Thank you,” she responded, tracing her tongue across her bloodied lips, “I’m…Jendayi.” She did not know if he expected, or even wanted, her name—but Jendayi figured it was a safe first step.