The Boy and the Animal

Part I | Eight

It was a dull, saturated morning, dreary and sopping with heavy, sighing wind and rain. Actually, from the basement, I had no idea what the outside was like, but it felt very much like the beginning to a shakespearian play from where I sat in my depression. Surely, the land would weep in empathy when such a beautiful man as I felt sorrow- and for such a travesty.

Today was the firebird festival. In the city, we were particularly known for our parties and festivals, but this one in and of itself was the most important by far. No Masculine could disagree with me in the assertion; no one would dare miss it. The vibrant colors of the banners, the radiant reds and yellows of the elder Summer flowers, and the swaying short skirts of the maidens- it was a treasure trove of beauty.

And I, of course, would be missing it.

I could hear the muffled laughing and ale-drinking and braggery and heartiness and camaraderie coming from outside. Oh gods, I wanted to run out into the sun and join them so much, I was nearly throwing a tantrum like a toddler!

I was brought from my thoughts at that by the boy's sudden yelp. My head whipped over to face him, finding him coddling his finger and... The rock heart in my chest wavered for a moment. I could see in his pure eyes that he was fighting back tears. Had he injured himself? I asked him just that, but he only scrambled to the corner and hissed at me. That was all I needed, however.

With his eyes piercing my body at every slight movement I made, I headed up the stairs and cracked open the door: maybe it was risky keeping my back to him, but he was more or less trusting me not to attack him while he was wounded so perhaps we were even. The inn outside the door was empty, including my brother. I looked back at the boy downstairs and bit my bottom lip.

Normally, I wouldn't have thought twice about closing that door and waiting for my brother to return, but standing there so close to the reception desk that was only meters from me made the opportunity too good. If needed, I could pin him down in the empty bar if he made a run for it, right? I looked back at the boy still sitting in his haybed.

Let's do it, I decided.

Giving him the point of my finger as I so often did, I shut the door behind me and darted for the desk, nearly breaking a wooden draw into pieces as I yanked it open and grabbed a box of bandaids. I felt like I was back in a war zone, crawling on that floor and grabbing what I needed before rolling back to the door and evading whatever might come for me as I slammed the door shut once again. Sweat dripping from my face, I locked onto the boy.

He merely sat in his haybed and glared at me. A sigh of relief left my lips, and I picked myself up to tread down the stairs to him. He backed himself further in the corner as I approached, pressing himself as far as he would go against the wall. I sat across from him as I had done everyday for meals, speaking to him in a calm, hushed tone. His growling subsided, but he refused to come to me.

Readying the bandaid, I withdrew a napkin from my pocket that I'd filled with nuts in case an occasion ever arose that I would need to lure him with food. The faintest sound of the nuts shifting in the napkin made his ear twitch. A stomach that never seemed to be satisfied with food rumbled. I knew I had him.

Usually, I would slide him his food and leave him to eat it, but today, needing to get the bandaid on his finger- of which blood was now quite clearly running from down his hand- I decided it was time to get him to cone to me. So, I held my hand just out in front of me and rattled the grains around. He licked his lips, leaning forward ever so slightly; he wanted to take them from me, but there was still a grave amount of hesitance in him.

Then, in a flash, the boy darted for the nuts, grasping them from my hand. Just as he did, however, I took his other hand and wrapped the bandaid around his wound before he could even realize what I'd done. He leaped back to his haybed and devoured the grains, and, when he finished, his tongue slid against the bandage. This startled him.