Dia

Dia

I roam bitterly through the jungle for the remainder of the day. I manage to catch a few small prey, but I let the last one go. I don't feel like eating any more.

I blink slowly as I halt halfway through my stride, tail lowering nearly to the forest floor like a being deflated of air. Then I look back vaguely in the direction of that clearing I found earlier. I wonder what she does all day. If she has friends.

There is an uncontrollable, sorrowful glare forming in my brow. I could call for her, as per the terms of our agreement. But I don't. I just growl softly to myself, planting my paw into the dirt to smother a particularly ugly-looking insect.

I need this. But her mother already nearly saw us the very first time.

I sometimes regret my inability to shed tears.

I raise my whiskers to the breeze, noticing how oddly cold it has become - and remained - since the previous evening when I found her. I glour lowly at my self-administered path beneath the canopy with little regard aside from my steps. I stop to hiss aloud, pointlessly in that no one will notice, before blinking slowly and twitching my ears.

It felt good. Really good. Like she'd done it a thousand times and knew what to do. But it wasn't enough. She doesn't know that yet. But she will.

And it will change nothing.

III

I return to my burrow to find yet another bird attempting to hijack my peace. So I pounce for it with a dramatic flail, rasping and shrieking without truly caring whether I swat it. I'm sick of their damned feathers and their entitlement.

The tree base is marked. THOROUGHLY.

Curling up after fidgeting with the leaves, I hide all but my eyes beneath the cloudy afternoon shade. I will nap until it is time. And then I will go back.