Budding friendship.

Claire’s POV:

I continued my normal life. Although it wasn’t a good one.

By the time I had gotten to eat dinner, my family was already off to rest, having eaten hours ago. I took a peek at the clock. It was 11 pm already, and it was only now I had gotten to eat dinner.

My stomach growled with anticipation of the meager bread and chicken soup with leftover salads I had managed to scrounge up from my stepmother and stepsisters’ dinner. My father was back but hadn’t joined them for dinner; I still kept a plate for him in the kitchen lest I be woken up in the middle of the night to prepare his dinner.

The kitchen was dark with the lights flickering and I turned and looked at the corner where I was used to eating most of my meals on. My heart clenched as I looked at that dark corner, with tears pricking my eyes but not falling. I don’t remember the last time I cried in this house, or at least not so openly. Only in my bedroom, my sanctuary, could I even hope to let my emotions show.

There was no sound, nothing but the sound of crickets and the cool breeze raising the curtains, cooling my skin. I knew that by now, no one would come back downstairs to check on me.

They were all fast asleep, and likely nothing short of an earthquake would wake them. At least that much I knew about my stepmother and my stepsisters I hated to be around.

I picked up my bowl of soup and bread and walked out of the kitchen to sit at the dining table. I was in the chair that one of my dreadful step sisters would normally sit in, and I placed my plate on the placemat with a soft thud. With a sigh, I began to eat the slowly cooling soup, enjoying the way the warm food moved from my mouth down my throat and made my entire body warm.

That was the only meal I had since the time I ate breakfast.

Unwittingly, my mind began to drift to the last memories I had of my mother, of her singing to me while I drifted off to sleep, of her sumptuous meals that she would make me whenever I felt even a little bit hungry.

Ever since she was gone, it was like I lost a light in my life, filling my entire heart with darkness. I was alone, truly alone. And it hurts to admit, even now. My father didn’t care for me, and he didn’t bother asking after me. It was just me in the world, having to face the abuse and bullying from my stepmother and stepsisters. Their taunting words, their foisting all the chores on me, making me their maid.

I felt a tear spill over my eyelids and drip down my cheek like a lone stream of sadness.

I closed my eyes tightly, gripping my spoon tightly. I didn’t want to cry, I didn’t want to show any sort of weakness. I had long learned that it was dangerous, as my bullies would sniff out my weakness and try to break me. I shook my head minutely, ridding myself of those thoughts and moving to continue eating my pitiful dinner.

I nearly finished my food when I began to hear a whine. I stopped, my spoon in midair, on its way to my mouth.

The wolf.

I had nearly forgotten about it in the chaos of trying to finish up my chores. I sniffled, dropping my spoon down into my bowl with a soft plop.

The wolf must have been hungry as well.

I stood up, my mind in a flurry as I began to think of what the wolf animal could eat. Wolves liked meat, didn’t they?

I went to the fridge, bringing out the slab of large pork sausages that were close to going off. Hopefully, no one would notice that I was taking a part of the meat from the fridge. Then again, as I was the one who ended up cooking, I doubted they would notice.

I walked out, making sure to not make any noise as I left the back porch and moved towards the bushes where I could now hear more whines coming from. As soon as I spotted the fur of the wolf, my heart nearly stopped.

I could now see why the wolf was whining.

Not only was it likely very hungry, but it also had an injury on its leg. An injury that I had been unable to notice in the afternoon. And by the way, blood was caked on it, it was a very deep wound.

“I’m sorry,” I said in a whisper, bending down with the sausages in my hand. The wolf noticed it and began to look at me, meeting my eyes with understanding. It was a little bit odd, feeling like this animal could understand the words I was saying, but how else could I describe how it felt?

“You’re going to be okay,” I said to it while slowly cleaning the wound. “Okay? It’s going to be fine.”

I noticed how the wolf’s head was inching toward the sausages and I remembered.

“Oh, you’re hungry,” I stated, pushing the bounty toward his mouth. He gulped it up without much warning and I found myself giggling at the sight.

I must be mad, the thought occurred to me before I shook my head.

If anything, I deserved a little bit of joy in my life.

After successfully cleaning the wolf’s wound, I noticed that it was now trying to push itself from my grasp.

“What is it?” I asked out loud, only to find the wolf standing up. The wound didn’t look as bad anymore, nevertheless, I winced in sympathy as the bandages began to soak with blood.

“Don’t move,” I told the wolf. “You need rest,” I tried to make it understand.

However, with an ache in my heart, I noticed how it seemed to be looking into the forest behind us as if it was searching for something.

It wanted to leave. It wanted to return to its home, I realized.

“Go,” I said. I steeled my heart for the little twinge I felt. I had taken care of this wolf and now, like all the good things in life, it was leaving me.

It must have heard the crack in my voice as I told it to leave, and it turned its head to look at me. It showed guilt in its eyes, a little bit of hesitation.

“Go,” I said again, in a hoarse voice.

This time the wolf did turn back and begin walking into the forest.

Away from me.