She is restless. She sits in the corner. Wolf has been as well. The warmth of her fire has been the source of their comfort; now it is the reason they can stay indoors, yet apart. Wolf can barely look at her, and when he does, she can no longer sense the pull they had towards each other. He is repulsed by her. No matter how she fills the table with bountiful meals and graces the table with thanks to the Lord for them having each other, she knows it is for not.
That night, she puts out the fire. Stores away the last of the food. Drags out her old wolf-skin blankets and piles them on the bed so there is no room for Wolf. Finally, she leaves the door open. Cold, crisp air enters and fills the house. It is no longer a home. Not for her, not for him. He howls by the window. Sniffs the air. There is game outside. A small hare, no bigger than his snout. It would be his first kill in months. He closed his eyes and imagined crunching down on the limp body, the fresh scent of blood as it dribbled down his teeth. The taste.
Instead, he turns slowly and pounces at the bed. Down tumbles the blankets. Wolf curls up to Red and waits for her to reach her arm around him. She does. His heart feels nothing, but maybe tomorrow he will. Maybe. Red pulls him closer, tears streaming down her face. He licks up her tears, wishing he didn't. Wishing instead he was back out in the wild. Yet there he was, in bed with Red. He puts his head down, and comforts himself with thoughts of running out the door in some undetermined future. He imagined Red's tears as he ran out, and she was helpless to stop him, and those thoughts brought him to a deep slumber.
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