The Red-Eyed Reindeer

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

There was a stiff and cold silence. Jendayi’s own movements grew softer, smoother, and quieter—she did not want to let him hear the soft wolfish purr in her throat at the feeling of warm food, nor did she wanted him to hear the near-embarrassing swallow of each desperate bite. Despite her slow and mannerly eating, she still bit back the ravenous appetite that threatened to seep through. With careful concentration, she focuses on the doe in front of her, and as she reaches forward for one more bite, the sudden reverberation of deep masculine vocals quickly snaps Jendayi from her near-reverie. She had not realized until the sound of his burp echoed like a violent drum that she had been so enthused with her careful eating she had all but forgotten he was there. She blinks, a startled deer in the headlights, her golden gaze turning toward him—before, after a few drawn moments, she lets out a small laugh. Her tone was a light contrast to the deep throaty of his, but was nowhere near as boisterous. Never before had she heard something so boorish from a stranger, but that is perhaps what made it even funnier. It relaxed her, if only just. This man is no stealthy murderer, she thinks, but guards her words carefully. It only made him seem more approachable.

Just Jendayi? His voice catches her off guard once more, and a throaty little hm? accompanies Jendayi’s gaze locking into the deep of his own. No surname or even ‘The Jendayi’? A small grin curls onto her lips, but it does not reach her eyes—there is a certain sadness in them, but it lasts for only a second, before it dissipates until her well-practiced stoicism. “Just Jendayi,” she repeats fondly, her voice as honest as a liar could manage, “it’s all I’ve ever been called. Never met enough people or been in enough places to earn much more than that.” You never were strong enough to keep it—it was left behind, just like the rest. There had never been any reason to lie except for the sake of moving on, so Jendayi never thought it a bad thing.

“This space is not mine, Vadim Armada,” she replies, putting emphasis on his own last name, attempting to divert any potentially-prying questions with the slightest bit of girlish humor, “it is as much yours—I have not placed a claim over it. You’re welcome to stay, as long as you aren’t a loud sleeper.” It would have been easier to say as long as you don’t hurt me, but Jendayi did not want to let her fear slip into the open. There were always many things to fear—nature was ferocious and respectable, but men were often savage and unkind. They were two vastly different things, and Jendayi feared them both in different ways. She caught his gaze as he continued to speak, and at his mention of cuddling, she could not will away the heat that rose to her cheeks; for so long had she been without the touch of another. Admittedly, Jendayi craved it; “It is…rather cold,” she admitted shyly, the once-warm humor suddenly turning into something more demure. An open invitation, and one that would not let her bare the front if he rejected it (though it were silly to think such, when he’d been the one to offer nearly out of the blue—or had he noticed her tentative shivering?).

The dim light outside grew dark, and steadily, the evening began to turn into nightfall, and the cave began to shroud them in a careful darkness. Jendayi nosed the remainder of the doe in his direction, having eaten enough to satisfy her for the night.