"Woah there, Madi," a muddled yet familiar voice calls to me, pulling me out of darkness. The room subtly spins as my ears flick forward; now much more alert to my surroundings. I shoot up, dusting myself off while making sure my backpack hadn't slid off. With a sigh and bray, I notice the altered, split path of traffic accommodating my once fallen frame. My eyes then flicker to the hand perched on my shoulder, bashfully following its arm to meet the assurance coming my way. It was Hina, looking cheerful as ever; never missing a beat... whereas I had missed a few.
"I can't believe it happened out here again... I thought I was doing better," I mumble next to her floppy ear. She shrugs it off while weaving my arm with hers, "The same could be said of me. I got distracted by the sound, myself, instead of bracing your fall". Her smiling muzzle and wagging tail thumping on my leg coaxes a comforted nod out of me, my shoulders relaxing. The sound of whirring breaks turns both our heads forward, and before I know it, we're darting down the sidewalk to hop onto the bus half a block away.
It wasn't an odd sight for passersby, though it personally feels just as awkward as the first public faint in preschool. A fainting goat accompanied by any sort of shepherding dog is completely normal; but that doesn't stop me from feeling like a pitiful nuisance. I was lucky enough to know a kindhearted Australian Shepherd since her family moved next door in the countryside when I was five. When I work an extra shift and miss the usual flock bounding to their homes, Hina's always happy to escort me. She says it gives her a reason to visit and catch up with her family, so it's never a bother. Doesn't matter. I know it has to be annoying. At least, now and then.
Our small talk along the way never gets old. We spend enough time away that it feels refreshing. Having known each other for fifteen years, we were one of each other's few exceptions with whom we could be our unapologetic selves with. The routine of going home has changed since I moved into a cozy cottage just an extra mile or two away from my childhood house, so I'm not going through the motions again just yet. This time, as it is every so often, Hina didn't have time to visit her pack. She has a presentation at work tomorrow. It's times like this I really feel bad for making her come all this way. It's only fifteen minute add-on to her stop back into the city if she lets me walk my way home from here, though. The country is tranquil; I virtually never have to worry about 'hiccups' along the worn pathways cutting through the fields. After the routine of convincing to my friend that I'll be alright and an expression of gratitude, I'm off to my house. My new; quiet; perfect home.
A skulk or two of foxes, cetes of badgers and bear sleuths live in this area, but they never cause any trouble. Thanks to the protective and equalizing nature of my closest companion, I've hardly ever had my reservations toward carnivores. Don't get me wrong, I'm not blinded to the world; and it has never given me a blindside. But, typically, such circumstances are avoided by whatever environments you invite yourself into. I've been around long enough to know this is a safe place. My safe place. Around this time of evening a friendly predator walking past even offer to take me home. This time, I figured, wouldn't be an exception.
Morris, a black bear, wasn't but a stone's throw away. We go back since junior high. I wave, smile, even dip my head. He nods and chuckles, makes small talk about the weather. I ask how this year's baseball season was lining up. The conversation seems to be lasting a tad too long for his liking, though. His small, rounded ears flick back and forth. He'd say it was the mosquitoes if I questioned it, but I've known him long enough to know he's uncomfortable.
That's when I could sense it; smell and taste it until my four stomachs were turning. He'd had a fix of meat in his satchel. It was common for a gang of dealers a few villages out to offer quail, stoat and even victims my size to the morbidly addicted masses around town. Despite my better judgement, I kept talking. At some point, I think we both knew what he was chowing on when he got home. I wish I could even give such a conceited reason as buying time until he offers to walk me; or say it was my nervousness of the situation that kept me from shutting up. 223Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ5b2nfXJ9Le
My muzzle began to twitch and snort, nostrils huffing. The churning knots bring bile to my lips, welling them up. I lick and spit away the residue before starting to take my hasted leave, until I realize there was no sourness or acidic burn on my taste buds. That disgust that once left me swimming in disdain turns to something... different.
Whatever it was in that bag bitterly baits me like a burned latte's aftertaste; the heat of a whiskey shot; a whiff of nicotine. The few steps I'd taken away from Morris stumble back towards him, barreling behind him. My thick skull rams between the blades of his shoulders. I have no idea what he said as my jaw clamped onto the leather strap on his back, grabbing that tainted satchel. His panicked growl stiffens my body, but my mouth never releases his bag as my drool slathers it.
"... A-and that's all... I remember, s-sir," I stutter like an old ewe to the burly bear in my home. He says his name is Gohin, and he carried me home. He was scouting the surrounding trap houses in order to break them up, or find people in need of redemption like me.
Like me.223Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ2Fl9Nl3kS3
I furrow my wiry brows and look up at him from my loveseat. "Like me? What d-do you mean by that? What could you ever mean by that?"
Gohin gives a heavy, tired sigh as he takes a seat on the floor before me. His hardened eyes burdened with whatever plagued this mysterious man gaze into mine. "You're an opportunistic carnivore; which means if given the chance, you'd eat meat. It's a very rare condition, even with your disposition. When was your last meal," he asks, after spitting off the dumbest yet most elaborate prank I've heard yet.
I laugh obnoxiously in disbelief, dumbfounded and denying every word. "You've got to be kidding. Is Morris in on this? Let me guess: It was alfalfa basted with blood, or a toffee apple laced with some sort of vial."
He simply blinks, presenting the same question as before.
"Lunch was at noon," I shrug and roll my eyes in exasperation, "but what does that matter? I... Me? Meat? What, was it some sort of exotic grass someone ate that appealed to me?"
Someone. That's right: Someone that once was is in Morris' bag. The thought nauseates me. I clutch my lips, dry heaving. Shaking in a matter of silent seconds. The panda calmly strokes my shin, giving a gentle squeeze on my knee. "It's been seven hours since your last meal. That's enough to trigger it."223Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡmupWN9ii2K
I don't understand. I've gone a whole day without food, and not a single thought of eating meat has ever hit me.
"You know what I am," he continues. "I eat bamboo all my life: It's my staple. But I've had the same experience." Gohin towers over me again as he stands, before helping me to my feet. That same reassuring palm everyone offers curls around mine to keep me upright.
"Come on, I'm sure I can whip something up in your kitchen," he nearly commands as we walk to my dining table.
I nod nonetheless, a belch leaving the taste of pleather in my throat.
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