Tame

Dawn stirred a bulky vegetable stew as it simmered enthusiastically above the fireplace. The generous amount of ingredients was all recently harvested from her little produce garden. Periodically she glanced over at the man she’d rescued who was nestled heavily in a mound of blankets.

It was late into the night now, or perhaps it was early morning, and he’d still not moved an inch. Anxiety chewed persistently at Dawn’s thoughts. There was no way she could sleep, and it was not just because there was a strange shapeshifting man in her bed.

A mixture of dread and worry constantly washed over her like waves crashing on a beach. She was afraid of his reaction once he did awaken, but equally afraid he would not awaken at all. Had she made the right decision to bring him into her home? Or was this a tragedy waiting to happen?

Dawn took a second, smaller pot of boiling water off of the fire to cool and then approached the theron for the utmost time to check his vitals.

Dawn knelt beside her mysterious patient, intending to check his pulse, when she noticed his eyes were open and staring right at her.

He’d looked so innocent, so human, while he slept. But now he was awake and his unique coloured eyes flared with life.

Fear and surprise had her frozen in place, like a rabbit hypnotized by the predatory glare of a hungry wolf.

Dawn could not read his mood and tried her best to appear neutral. To force her swirling thoughts elsewhere. She took in his well-sculptured face. His dark hair which accentuated his eyes. He had a defined jawline which held finger-crushable teeth. And his left ear had a small but distinctive nick in the helix which was either a very well-healed but not properly medically attended laceration, or it was a cartilage defect.

It was hard to guess his age. Like most of the naturally born shapeshifting species, their bodies were designed to take the constant abuse of transforming from one shape to another. The bones, internal organs and even the skin was resilient to deterioration, which included ageing processes such as wrinkles, blemishes and the elasticity of the skin.

She watched nervously as the man finally reverted his gaze away from Dawn to take in his surroundings.

Dawn’s home was an open-style cottage. There were sizable cracks in the walls and bowing wood framing which empathized its age. The main room consisted of a blanket fort which was the makeshift bed, an old dining table with three surviving matching chairs and a rug and rickety coffee table which sat in front of a tired fireplace.

There were just two windows in the tiny house and both sills were covered in potted herbs, the leaves reaching high to get to the sunlight behind the scratched glass. There was a small walk-in closet, and stone shelving across the cottage walls for storage. Blending into the room was a cluttered kitchen, every shelf full of ingredients, potions and remedies. Just beyond that was the bathroom. There were hinges where a door once was, and a curtain strung up in its absence.

When his glance finally fell back to Dawn his eyebrows were knitted together with confusion. It was a relief to Dawn who’d expected his initial reaction may have been aggressive or somewhat threatening. Although he was clearly unwell, he actually gave off a refined and calm demeanour.

“You’re Dawn.” He finally said.

The man’s voice surprised Dawn. It was low and smooth, but held an obvious rasp. She could feel the pain behind his words as he forced them out.

He must have noticed Dawn’s inquisitiveness that he had known her name, and when she did not respond he continued.

“I’ve overheard the townsfolk... Speak of you many times.”

Dawn felt a sadness come over her at the realisation. Much of the time the villagers did not have nice things to say about her. She wasn’t sure if the look of pity he was expressing was for her, or himself. Dawn wanted to assure him that none of the horrible rumours about her were true. But instead, she deflected the conversation.

“How do you feel sir?” She asked him, averting her gaze to hide the shame from her face.

“Kalen.” The man corrected her. “My name is Kalen.”

Dawn looked back at him and blinked a couple of times, a little taken aback he’d offered up his name so freely.

“Kalen...” She repeated his name out loud.

“Yes?” He answered as if Dawn was actually addressing him.

He lifted his hand, presumably to offer a handshake, but he seemed to overexert himself and slumped forward instead. His hand fell atop Dawn’s instead and her face flushed a bright red.

“Sorry.” He mumbled through gritted teeth. “Every inch of me aches and I’m just...”

Dawn intertwined her fingers with Kalen’s as he tried to compose himself. She winced as she clenched her sore finger, but then replaced her expression with a reassuring smile, trying to will away her blazing cheeks.

“I can make you a strong painkiller that will help, if you think you can manage to keep down some food with it.”

Dawn had to give him a moment to catch his breath and find the strength to tilt himself back upright.

“I feel... very queasy.” He wheezed doubtfully.

“Ah. I’ll bet. Let me brew up a gentle tea which will help with the nausea first then.”

Kalen nodded hesitantly as he removed his hand from Dawn’s and used it to cover his face. Noticing he was swaying she strategically placed some blankets up against the wall so he could lean back comfortably.

Dawn lingered to offer him assistance if he should need it, but he seemed to be able to adjust himself on his own. His face was obviously solemn. His teeth were clenched from the pain of the poison leaving a burning stain on his muscles.

“Don’t worry si- er, Kalen. I’ll do everything in my power to make you feel well again.” Dawn assured him sheepishly.

Kalen’s face softened but Dawn walked briskly over to the kitchen before he could respond.