FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Aside from the miserable weather, things have been relatively peaceful for the past few hours. I'm once again reminded of how awfully easy it is to get caught up in a story, although I do force myself to get up every now and then to stretch. I guess it wouldn't be so bad to lose an entire day engrossed in the lives of a few fictional characters.

Hmm…that gets me pondering. If I were left undisturbed for an arbitrary amount of time, I wonder how many pages I'd—

“Hey."

I'm whisked away from my zen-like state so fast, I must have gotten whiplash on the way back to reality. God, I really hope she's settled down, or so help me…

The deer lady hobbles, favoring her left leg, as she passes me by. Amusingly, she's giving Linus a run for his money with how she's dragging the blanket in tow. The back of her thin shirt is pretty badly torn up, exposing more of her matted fur, yet it doesn't seem to faze her.

Her reappearance gets me thinking she could be going to the kitchen. I should have offered her some food earlier to banish the demons of an empty stomach, but I didn't think of it at the time. Whoops, clouded mind and all that.

It doesn't take long to determine my wager is far off the mark. Rather than helping herself to my refrigerator, she chooses to take a seat, plopping right down on the opposite side of the couch. The momentum is substantial enough to convince me I somehow bought a water bed by mistake.

Neither of us says anything. I mean, am I supposed to? Is she?

Better yet, can I pretend she's not there and keep reading? I haven't hit a good stopping point in the story, and I've probably got a dozen or so more pages before I reach one. Coolly, I pull my book back up to eye level and find my place again.

Meanwhile, she's still adjusting her fuzzy posterior against the fabric cushion. Unfortunately for her, my furniture doesn't possess the ergonomic qualities to support anything jutting out beyond the coccyx. It takes a good ten seconds before she's finally comfortable, draping her gangly arms along the top and side of the couch.

Speaking of which, I can't help but notice the winding scar trailing from her left elbow down to her wrist. It's pretty faded and has to catch the light of the nearby lamp to be readily visible, so I suppose that explains why I didn't initially pick up on it amongst the other nicks and scrapes in her possession. She must have experienced something pretty gnarly for that to happen; I don't envy her position one bit.

I still don't want to give her the satisfaction of acknowledging her presence, so I continue to observe her purely though my peripheral vision. Unbeknownst to the deer, I can glean a modicum of pleasure from her expression. Dare I say, she almost looks…calm? I'm not an expert at reading body language, and doubly in the negative when the body isn't entirely human. If I know anything, however, it's that closing her eyes around someone she considers a threat is the last thing she should be doing.

Certainly, reclining is far more forgiving on her body than any form of interaction with the bitterly cold floor. She can sit there as long as she likes as long as she's not bothering—

“That book you got there? What's it about?"

Does she actually have an interest in literature? Or is the monotony getting to her already? Eh, certainly not a lot of room for entertainment in a quaint little residence like this one, so I'll bite.

“Uh, this one? It's one of those cop and robber types of things. You know, where there's some elaborate scheme to steal something expensive or significant, and the whole plot is so incredibly convoluted that you start to wonder why you're even reading the damn book in the first place."

“Oh…neat." Yeah, figures. Probably not the best strategy for me to spout off a bunch of drivel the first opportunity I get.

I only now notice she hasn't even deigned to turn her head to face me. Like come on. I at least had the decency to pull my nose away from the book's dusty binding to answer her. Is it worth testing my luck again and having some semblance of an actual conversation?

“While you're still in a talkative mood, you mind giving me your name?" That's about as brass tacks as I can get, but depending on how she answers, I'll have a better idea of how to move forward.

Like clockwork, she quips, “Wouldn't you like to know?"

I have to grit my teeth to stifle my indignation. “Yeah…I would. You're really hellbent on this schtick of yours, aren't you?"

Nonchalantly, she scratches at her good leg, as if to further signal her disinterest in being my equal. She's definitely testing my resolve, and I can't decide whether to hate or respect her for it.

“Sorry, force of habit." She cranes her neck in my direction, her expressive eyes immediately drawing my attention. “For what it's worth, I go by Della."

An apology? I'm content to call it a victory in of itself, and thankfully not a pyrrhic one.

“I see. Thanks. I'm…Warren." I extend her my dominant hand as an offer of solidarity.

Following a slight bit of contemplation, she meets me with a strong grasp of my palm. “Appreciate your patience as I come around. Not to bust your balls or nothing, but I don't trust very easily."

“Yeah, I can tell." My work's going to be cut out for me trying to be sensitive to her condition while ensuring she's still cooperative. I'm not a quitter, however, so I'll work with her as long as she's willing to work with me.

“Can you wait here? I'll be right back; I just need to get some stuff for your wounds and to help you freshen up a little."

“Don't feel like you have to tend to me like a servant. Just grab some soap, water, and bandages, and I can clean myself up." Della pauses. “…and something to support my ankle, if you have anything of the sort."

“I'll get on that." Fortunately, I always keep my medical supplies fully stocked for reasons like these. While I've trekked throughout the encompassing terrain and accumulated my fair share of scratches and soft tissue injuries, she's certainly had a far rougher go at it. Maybe she's not familiar with the area?

My wandering thoughts lead me to the bathroom, where I'm able to quickly procure the materials she's requested. Washcloth, dressings, all that stuff is universally applicable. However, I'm honestly uncertain whether she'll be able to make use of my brace with that cloven foot of hers. Better than nothing, I guess.

She's scarcely moved by the time I return to the living room. In fact, I have to hold back a snicker since it looks like she's about to nod off, but she's stirred from her stupor by the soft padding of my footsteps.

“Tired?"

“Not even a little bit." Masking her apparent exhaustion, she still doesn't skip a beat.

Unwilling to believe her snappy retort for even a second, I smirk and narrow my gaze. She's a bona fide bullshitter. I bet she didn't get a wink of shuteye while I was up here by my lonesome.

She exhales, recognizing the jig is up. “Okay, maybe a smidge." Shaking her head, she gestures for me to walk over with my treasure trove of goods. “Gimme."

“Didn't they teach you manners where you come from, Della?" I ask, leading with a jovial tinge to cloak the deeper intent of the question. “Seriously, a 'please' and 'thank you' wouldn't hurt from time to time." I lay out the items she requested on the coffee table, then head for the kitchen to get her a bowl of water for rinsing out the open cuts.

“Manners were hardly a concern there. A threat against your own life was probably the kindest pleasantry you'd receive from that place." She delivers this last sentence in a fully deadpan manner, involuntarily giving me the chills.

“Uh…what do you mean by that, exactly?" My voice cracks ever so slightly, and I turn on the faucet in a miserable attempt to cover up the embarrassing sound.

Della just shrugs.

“Do you wanna elaborate on that, or…"

“No, not really. Just understand that I'm not going back, even under the threat of force."

I feel something trickle down my hand; it takes me a second to process that I left the faucet running, causing the bowl to overflow. Did I hear her correctly? I get the feeling I've just stepped into some serious shit all of a sudden.

“Warren?"

“Y-yeah?"

“You're just standing there, gazing off into space."

“I-I know." Hastily, I turn the handle to the faucet, dump a little of the excess water into the sink, and move rigidly back to the couch. Some of the water manages to splash out and spread across the tabletop as I set the bowl down.

“Funny, you're way less composed now than you were a few hours ago," she remarks, dampening the washcloth ever so delicately. “What gives?"

Jesus, this isn't funny in the slightest. I'm all jittery, and whatever visage of calm I may have exuded is gone at this point. But…wouldn't anyone be afraid in this situation? It's like I've become a captive in my own house.

…breathe, damn it. I can't let her dictate the pace of this conversation. She's the one who needs to be under the spotlight, not me, and I'll move heaven and earth to keep it that way.

“Della, I can't help you any further unless you help me understand your situation. What were you doing out there before you came inside?"

She recoils as if I brandished a knife in front of her face. “Running like hell to escape, of course. You think I look like this because I was taking a leisurely stroll out in the forest?"

“From what, Della?" I'm met with the gravity of uncomfortable silence. “Please, you've gotta give me something here. For all I know, you're a wanted criminal. You realize the implications you've been making for yourself, right?" I have a sneaking suspicion that an impasse is rapidly approaching in this conversation.

The doe resignedly shakes her head. “I'm not a criminal. You have to believe me on this. I genuinely don't want you getting involved, all right?"

“Excuse me?" I shout incredulously. “Maybe you haven't been paying attention, but I'm already fucking involved, Della." She winces, shrinking even further into her seat. “The second you entered my home, you dragged me into…this, whatever the hell that is."

“I don't…you…" She's suddenly wringing and tugging at her ears, knees pressed up tightly against her chest.

Oh, shit. I mean, I was running out of steam before I finished yelling at her, but I feel even more horrible seeing the smears of coagulated blood and grime on the couch where she's indiscriminately rubbed against it. I just don't have what it takes to chew out a wounded animal.

“Della." Without even the slightest acknowledgement of my presence, she continues staring at the wall instead.

“Whatever you're planning, you can't do it alone, and that's for shit sure."

She's breathing heavily, clutching her companion of a blanket as if it were her only lifeline.

“Ask yourself this—if I haven't earned even a sliver of your trust, then why are you still here?"

“Don't say that." She's brought her voice down to a whisper, and a barely audible one at that. “I…don't distrust you, Warren."

“Then tell me who's looking for you." I have to be firm with this, I just have to be. I've let my grasp slip far too much already.

Slowly, she eases her legs back down until her feet touch the ground. “I…I dunno. The whole encounter was like a giant blur. The person was a lot bigger than me, but they looked just as surprised to see me as I was to see them."

“How did you manage to get away then?"

“I hit 'em square in the nose." The deer pantomimes a swing with her right arm. “There was an unsettling noise when I made contact."

“Probably broken, huh?"

“Probably."

Well, if she wasn't a criminal before, she's potentially looking at a battery charge here. Unless it was out of self-defense, of course. “Were they following you throughout the forest?"

“I couldn't tell. The rain made it hard to see or smell anyone else's presence."

That's an interesting tidbit. “You can smell people? It's not like I can't, but you know, the difference between a deer's olfactory bulb and a human's is…" I trail off, sensing that I'm only making things more awkward than they need to be.

“For me, everybody has a very distinct profile. This one was…earthy, I guess." She closes her eyes as if in deep thought, but she doesn't offer any other details. “Either way, it would have been wiped out by the weather."

“Yeah, you're right." My sense of anxiety has begun to stabilize again, but there are just too many holes in her recollection to make sense of it all. Maybe she's purposely withholding information, or perhaps she's undergoing some sort of transient amnesia induced by stress. I decide to file away this portion of the conversation for a later time; I don't get the impression that either of us is in danger, at least not for now.

Clearing my throat, I press forward with my pseudo-interrogation. “Okay, there's still something else I'd like to know."

Della scrunches up her face. “Yeah?"

“Out of all the places you could have gone, why here?"

She brightens up at this question, her pluckiness slowly returning to her. “There was smoke coming from your chimney, so I figured it was warm…and safe." She makes a motion of knocking with her hand. “To figure out if there were any cutaways in your floor, I timed the noise with the ongoing thunder. There's a spot in the corner of your closet that can be pushed aside and opened up, so I took advantage."

Yep, that would be my access point to the crawl space. “And somehow, you came to the conclusion that the underside of my bed was the best place to hang out in the entire home." I offer a sidelong smile, trying to coax her to do the same.

It's a struggle, but Della manages to eke one out. “You left the bedroom at one point, and I thought I caught a good timing to investigate the rest of your place. But you turned around all of a sudden, and I sort of panicked. I picked the first spot I could find cover, and not knowing whether you were a heavy sleeper, I was camped out for several hours until you found me."

“So I guess hitting your head against my bed frame wasn't part of your master plan?"

“I'm good at improvising, but that was not one of my finest moments," she laughs, indicating with her index finger. I don't think it's overly controversial, but I like the chipper, more confident version of her a lot better.

She looks back down at the table in front of her, then gives herself a once-over. “You know, it may make sense if I just take a shower instead. It'd be a lot more efficient, anyways. I'll try the brace when I come back." Checking behind her, she recognizes the damage done to the upholstery. “My bad about…that."

“It'll come out. Mostly." I gesture to the bathroom down the hallway. “As long as you promise not to clog up the drain. There are dry towels in the cabinet, and I'll set out some clean clothes for you."

The deer gets up, abandoning her safety cover, and begins shuffling her way towards her destination. Midway through her limping, she hesitates, then turns back to me. “Thank you…Warren." Straight from the heart, I reckon.

I watch diligently until she eventually disappears from my sight. Probably the cue for me to return to the kitchen to check my wares for cooking breakfast.

Strangely, my heart skips a beat or two as I move along…but for a different reason than before. In defiance of the chilled air, warm feelings are welling up inside me, and I'm having a hard time placing their true source—a sense of affection, happiness, something in between, or none of the above. I try to steel myself against this intangible aura by pinching the bridge of my nose, yet no such luck is to be found.

Well, I guess I'll just ride it out for the time being. It'll at least give me a little more pep in my step as I make the preparations. For the first time in recent memory, I'm actually looking forward to a meal—not because of what's going to be served, but who. Here's hoping she feels the same way.