Day by day, Tendaji grew stronger. He started to sleep outside the den Tujil-dasu had dug for him, but his intended act of defiance aroused no reaction from the wild dog. Nothing more than a glance before she crawled in the den herself. It would have been easy to trap her there, to guard the entrance as she once had, but he did not. He slept off to one side, leaving the entrance free, and made no attempt to block her exit in the morning. She left to hunt as she always did, but did not return at the expected time. Tendaji paced in front of the den, growling under his breath. Late, late. Had she left him? Good, he hoped she had! Just gone and left him all alone.
But what if she’d been hurt? What if she’d tripped while she was hunting and injured her paw. And even now she was making her slow, steady way back, dead hare clutched in her jaws. And she was hungry and thin because she spent all of her time hunting for him, feeding him, and she smelled like blood because of the hare and because she’d cut her head when she fell and there were vultures circling overhead and a pack of hyenas and oh gods she was dead wasn’t she? She was dead and it was all his fault.
When she returned at nightfall, he had paced himself into exhaustion without working up the courage to search for her poor, mangled corpse. She was carrying a dead hare, just as she always did, but even as he started to smile in relief the scent of another wild dog, a male, reached him. It was faint, but it was there, mixed with Tujil-dasu’s now-familiar scent. So that’s how it was. She’d left him, not because she was injured and hurt and alone, but for some sleazy male wild dog. And here he was, left all by himself with no explanation, worrying himself sick when he was already ill and –
No. Stop.
He would not treat Tujil-dasu the way the leopon had treated him. He would not treat her like a slave, a possession. He might not trust her, but the fact remained that she hadn’t hurt him, not once. She’d healed him, she’d hunted for him, and she’d made no demands while doing so. If anything he should be grateful to the male wild dog – after all, didn’t that prove once and for all that Tujil-dasu wasn’t interested in turning him into her play thing? What interest could she possibly have in hurting him, a leopard?
“Thank you,” he said as he accepted the hare, his voice hoarse from disuse.
Tujil-dasu gave him a surprised look. “You’re welcome,” she said, and slipped inside the den.
He ate the hare, a thoughtful look on his face.
----
Tujil-dasu didn’t understand the change that had come over the male she guarded, but she didn’t question it. It wasn’t that he left the fragile protection of the den or that he started hunting for himself, now and then bringing back a larger kill to share with her; it was something about the way he looked at her. His manner was less guarded, almost open for all that he hardly spoke a word. He still hadn’t told her his name or who Cari was, but she hadn’t asked him again either. In time he’d tell her, or she’d find out on her own.
And in the mean time… in the mean time the scent of the leopon was nowhere nearby and she’d run into a most charming male wild dog. He was handsome, not looking for commitment but willing to have a fling… oh, he was perfect. A temporary friend of sorts, someone to keep her company now that she no longer needed to guard the leopard night and day. He hadn’t heard of anyone heard ‘Cari,’ but no matter. She didn’t go to him because she wanted information.
Then there came a day when the leopard simply wasn’t there anymore. She returned after spending a merry night with the wild dog to find an empty den. Granted she’d grown increasingly distracted, but that was it? No good-bye, no explanation, no nothing? All he’d said before she slipped away the night before was a quiet “Thank you” and –
Aaaaah, males were so stupid sometimes. How was “Thank you” supposed to be enough when she didn’t even know his name? No, she’d nursed him back to health and she, well… she still wanted answers damn it.
So she set out after the male. He had a good head start and had regained his former health and strength, but he had not set himself a reckless pace and severely underestimated Tujil-dasu’s ability to track anyone over anything by scent alone. And perhaps he wanted to be found again after all, for all he said once she caught up to him at nightfall was
“Hey.”
“Hey yourself,” she growled at the indistinct form up a tree. “You left.”
A pause. “I did.”
“And you never told me your name,” she said. “You have to tell me your name if you’re going to leave.”
“Who says?”
“I say! You just up and left and never even told me your name. What am I supposed to call you? ‘Leopard boy’?”
A branch creaked as he shifted his weight. “I’d rather you didn’t.”
“Then tell me your name.”
"Tendaji.”
Silence lapsed between them. “Are you going to stay down there all night?” he asked at last.
“I don’t see why not. I can’t climb trees.”
“What about the male you were seeing?”
“What about him?”
“Won’t he be waiting for you?”
She considered this. “Maybe for a night or two. He’ll figure it out.”
“You’re just going to leave him like that?”
Tujil-dasu growled in response to Tendaji’s scandalized tone. “I’m not his mother.”
Tendaji stared at the wild dog at the foot of the tree for a while, not understanding her casual approach to love. He understood well enough that flings happened – especially if his brother Safi was involved – but they still didn’t sit well with him. His mother would never forgive him if he knocked up some poor girl and just left her, and wasn’t love supposed to be forever? But who was he to judge; his only love to date was a ravening beast who had hurt him in more ways than one. “I’m coming down,” he called.
Tujil-dasu didn’t reply, but after some hesitation he curled up next to her, leaving a healthy distance between the two of them. Tujil-dasu promptly rolled over so that her side rested against his, just barely touching. Tendaji tensed, but neither moved nor spoke a word until her steady breathing assured him that she was asleep. He considered moving, but it felt… nice to have her there. Just some crazy wild dog who had healed him. Maybe someday a friend. “Good night,” he sighed, and rested his head on his paws.
Word count: 1175
