Reaching for the Stars

Chapter 02: Bland Steak and Accents

(Revised 02/08/2022)

Small note: This story is set in a fictional country of South Iceland. South Iceland has two official languages: South Icelandic and English. Most people are bilingual at both, though mixing them is generally frowned upon. South Icelandic is also much more commonly used at home compared to English. Speaking English at home is mainly done by people in the northern cities and immigrants. Recently, however, to avoid what happened to Irish in Ireland, the South Icelandic government has made it mandatory that all official matters (documents, road signs, etc.) use South Icelandic, lowering English to the status of regional language.

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The meal in front of him was starting to look unappetising.

Tom stabbed the piece of meat with a fork and tried to cut it up. He stared at it as if it offended him; the meat didn't stare back. The meat wasn't even cut up.

"Loup, you okay?" asked Martin beside him, his plate already empty.

Tom sighed. "This tastes bland. I miss being able to cook for myself."

"Aw, man, at least gimme some." Martin joked. "But seriously, you look like something's been bothering your mind."

"Me? Not really." The wolf gulped his drink. "Well, maybe. I think I haven't been getting enough sleep."

"Really? When's the time you go to bed?"

"22 usually. I wake up at 7 or 8."

"Loup, it's not that you haven't been getting enough sleep, your sleep hasn't been good enough."

"Maybe." Tom let out a sigh and leant on the table, his ears going down. He'd been having nightmares again. He knew they would come soon enough, but he didn't think it would be this soon. Usually when he had nightmares, he'd just stay awake throughout the night. Good thing he'd learnt how to survive for several days without sleep. Experience taught him after all.

"Don't get all deflated like that." Martin put his empty plate on the tray on the side. "We're only starting the fifth semester. We have three more to suffer through."

Tom chuckled quietly at the joke.

"Whoa."

He looked up at the fox in mild interest. "Whoa what?"

"Max is here."

The wolf's ears perked up and he turned around. Sure enough, Max was walking with the football team into the canteen. This time, he was wearing a full jacket without a cap.

"His mane isn't as long as yours." Martin chuckled next to him.

"Fluff, not mane."

"Whatever, I'm calling it mane. Yours too. That lion has a great mane, though."

The football team went to the kiosks, and not long after, they went away. Only Max and a lion remained, both equally big, but Max was a bit taller. Max laughed at a joke the lion said and punched him softly.

Tom turned his head, afraid of being caught. That interaction was certainly interesting, but that small laugh Max let out was definitely more interesting. He finally cut his meal and ate it.

"Loup, how tall do you think he is?"

"Who, him?"

"Yep." Martin took a slice of his meat. Tom just let him.

He took a gulp of his drink. "Maybe around 190."

"Whoa. He's as tall as you."

Tom chuckled. "Oi, I'm only 175."