Side Colors

by Isuna Hasekura

  When next she came to, she was beneath a pile of blankets so heavy they were making it hard to breathe.

  She had little memory of when or how she’d come to be here.

  There was some vague sense of being carried on someone’s back.

  On one hand, this was humiliating, but she could not deny that there was some part of her that felt very tenderly about this.

  But it had probably been a dream, so she swept it into a corner of her mind.

  She’d had similar dreams before, after all.

  If she did mistake dreams for reality and thank him for carrying her, there was no telling how happy that would make him.

  This was the way of the wisewolf: Anger was for scolding and laughter for praise, but one showed weakness only to trick others into letting their guard down.

  “…”

  And yet, she thought, turning sideways and curling up beneath the too-heavy blankets.

  She was a disgrace.

  She’d interrupted dinner.

  As someone who well understood the need for celebration, she was ashamed.

  And having displayed such pathetic behavior in front of the shepherd girl, she was still more ashamed.

  She could never regain her wisewolf’s pride.

  While she hated being worshipped, she didn’t want to part with her dignity.

  “…Mngh.”

  And yet, she thought.

  Even having committed such disgrace, she thought about the other times she’d shamed herself in front of her foolish traveling companion—this felt like nothing compared to them.

  Any of them were more than enough to shame the pride of the wisewolf.

  She’d become angry out of displeasure, laughed when amused, and let her guard down long since.

  Having only just met him, she felt like they’d been journeying for ages, and as she thought about each little piece, they added up to a huge failure, and her chest ached with it.

  Long ago she’d made mistakes here or there, of course, but none of them had pained her so.

  But this journey suddenly felt like that.

  “…Why should that be, I wonder?” she murmured in spite of herself.

  She wondered if it was because of the centuries she’d spent in the wheat fields. Day after day would pass with nothing happening, no difference between one day and the following, between tomorrow or the day after. The only things that reminded her of time’s passage were the yearly festivals—the harvest festival, the sowing festival, the festivals of prayer for protection from frost and from wind.

  When she really thought about it, there were perhaps only twenty days in the year that were any different from the others. Thus it had come to be that her sense of time was denominated not in days, but in months and seasons. Other days were all bundled together as “not festival days.”

  But now each day was so fresh, it was like being reborn daily.

  Compared to her previous life, where if she wasn’t careful a sapling would grow into a huge tree in the blink of an eye, the time she’d spent with the young merchant seemed like many years’ worth of experience.

  Even within a single day, morning and evening were totally different. They might have a great row in the morning, make up by midday and tease each other for leaving the bread crumbs from lunch on their faces, have another fight over the struggle for dinner, then at bedtime talk quietly about the coming day.

  She wondered if she’d ever experienced a time so dizzyingly full of change before.

  I have, the answer came back to her.

  She’d traveled and lived with people many times before. They were memories she would never lose.

  But while she might have had time to dwell on such things back in the days when all she had to do in the wheat fields was groom her tail, she now had no such luxury.

  She was too busy thinking about other things: What had her companion done yesterday? What about this morning? And what was he planning now right before her eyes?

  Even when her companion had first met her, she’d only moments earlier been thinking of her homeland and weeping pathetically.

  Since she’d gotten so used to days with so much free time she could count the hairs on her tail two or three times over, she couldn’t very well start crying now that every day was filled with stimulation.

  Were she to claim it wasn’t fun, that would be a lie.

  No—it was too fun, and that made her worry.

  “…”

  She rolled facedown from her side, then sighed at having finally found a comfortable position.

  Having gone to the trouble of taking human form, she’d tried to sleep human-style, but no matter what she did, this was the only position she could relax in.

  Facedown—or better yet, curled up into a ball.

  Her companion stretched out like some foolish cat, sleeping faceup with the most ridiculous expressions on his face, but lately she’d had to admit that it took such blithe insensitivity to survive in the human world.

  She had no doubt that the humans were so short-lived—they were lucky to see seventy—because they were so busy every day.

  Just look at the trees, she thought.

  They lived so long because far from distinguishing today from tomorrow, they hardly knew the difference between next year and the year after.

  And by the time the thought had occurred to her, she’d forgotten what it was she was thinking about in the first place.

  “…Hmph. That shepherdess, eh…” Finally she came back around to the beginning of things.

  In any case, she’d made a spectacle of herself back there.

  But now they were in the inn, and no one would interrupt them.

  So maybe it was time to hassle her insensitive companion—perhaps it was time for him to cater to a few of her whims.

  After all, during last night’s dinner, he’d paid all of his attention to the shepherdess and barely looked at her.

  It was thanks to her wisewolf nature that she’d endured such a trial. That accursed shepherdess! That slender body! That blond damned hair!

  As she thought about this and that, she felt her eyelids getting heavy again, which frustrated her anew.

  Anyway, where was he?

  Just as she was feeling an unreasonable anger boil over at thinking about that good-for-nothing male being absent when she needed him most—or perhaps she was being unreasonable—her ears picked up the sound of footsteps.

  “…!”

  She jolted herself up.

  Then immediately sensing something doglike about her actions, she felt both shame and irritation and flopped back down on the bed.

  Such shallow actions did not suit the dignity of a wisewolf.

  And yet, humiliation was humiliation.

  Not just because she was considering descending to such schemes with him, but worse—she’d already been unconsciously doing so.

  There was a knock at the door.

  She did not reply and faced away from it.

  After a brief silence, the door was finally opened.

  Since she always slept with her head beneath the blanket, if it was outside of the blanket, she was normally awake.

  Her companion seemed to know this; he sighed, entered, and closed the door.

  And yet he wasn’t looking at her; his back remained turned.

  If he was so fond of weak girls, then he could hardly fail to be charmed by her having fallen to the floor. She began to see a chance of victory.

  Her companion stood next to the bed.

  Now, to the hunt! she thought to herself, and full of anticipation, she rolled over to face him—very, very weakly.

  To this she added a faintly happy “…Nn…”

  Even she didn’t know what she said—probably something she thought would help the pathetic performance.

  But thinking about it later, he must have been surprised by this.

  After all, as she looked back at him, her companion did not seem worried or concerned at all—h
is face was strained with anger.

  “Why didn’t you tell me you weren’t feeling well?” was the first thing he said.

  “…” She was so surprised she had no reply.

  Never had she dreamed he would be angry with her, of all things.

  “You’re not a child. I assume you’re not going to claim you didn’t notice how bad you felt until you fell over, are you?”

  This was the first time she’d seen this side of her companion: serious and angry.

  Though he was a tiny fraction of her age, his wisdom and strength meager in comparison to hers as a wisewolf—his face was still frightening.

  The words would not come.

  Though her days had been as numerous as grains of sand on a beach, she could count the times someone had dared be angry with her on one hand.

  “Don’t tell me the meat and wine was just so damned important—”

  “Wha—!”

  She admitted that it was partially her pride that had kept her silent.

  But that was only half true.

  She would never conceal feeling poorly just to be treated to more food.

  While she may have hated it, she had been called a god for ages. She knew well the importance of feasting. She would never try to change or destroy that.

  That he’d accuse her of such thoughtless logic—

  “…I’m sorry. That was wrong of me to say,” her companion said, coming to his senses. He sighed deeply and turned away.

  It was then that she noticed she’d been baring her fangs. “I would never—”

  I would never have even thought to do that, she thought but did not say.

  Her throat was dry, but more than that, her companion again turning to look at her was more than enough to make her close her mouth.

  “I was very worried. What would you have done if we’d been traveling?”

  It was here that she finally understood why he was so angry.

  He was a traveling merchant.

  If he fell ill on the road, he wouldn’t necessarily have any comrades nearby to lend aid.

  Quite the contrary—suffering alone in the wilderness was the likelier outcome.

  She thought of the poor food she ate while on a journey, of the hardship that was making camp.

  Collapsing in such circumstances was without exaggeration life threatening.

  He was different than she was—she who complained about loneliness but had always lived with someone nearby.

  “…I am sorry,” she said in a low, desolate voice, and it was no act.

  Her companion was so endlessly softhearted that he must have been truly worried about her.

  That she’d ignored that and thought only of herself was deeply embarrassing.

  She pulled her head in, unable to look at his face.

  “No…it’s all right, so long as you’re well. You haven’t…caught cold or gotten sick…have you?”

  At these words she found herself both happy and sad.

  His asking was slightly timid. The reason for that timidity was obvious.

  He was a human, and she was a wisewolf.

  She was beyond his understanding in some ways—like this one.

  “I was just…a bit fatigued.”

  “I thought as much. I think I would’ve been able to tell if you’d been sick.”

  She knew it was a half-truth.

  But there was no reason to point it out, and it would be even more pointless to get angry.

  “I just wondered if maybe…”

  “?” He hesitated to finish, and she looked at him questioningly.

  He continued apologetically. “…If maybe you’d eaten an onion or some such.”

  Her eyes widened but not in anger.

  It was actually rather amusing.

  “I’m…not a dog, you know.”

  “I know. You’re a wisewolf.” Her companion finally smiled, and she realized she, too, was smiling for the first time in a while.

  “I do feel ’twas a waste of wine and food, though.”

  At this her companion’s expression suggested he agreed. “You need not worry about that—I’m a merchant after all. I had the leftover food packed up for us.”

  Again, her fangs were bared.

  But this was because her lips curled into a smile.

  “—Or at least, that’s what I wish I could say.” Her companion’s smile disappeared, and he held out his hand.

  It wasn’t exactly tough, but neither did it speak of an easy life.

  It was clearly different from her own hands, and if anything, the hand that enveloped hers was as rough as a wolf’s paw.

  His fingers carefully brushed her bangs aside and felt her forehead.

  She became very restless at the sensation of his hand on her face.

  For him to nuzzle her face with his nose would’ve been a bit too familiar.

  She didn’t let this feeling show on her face, though, and her companion certainly didn’t notice it.

  He just felt her forehead, as if it was the most natural thing in the world. “Ah, it’s just as I thought. You’ve got a fever. You must’ve been truly exhausted.”

  “It’s because you’re such a fool, that…I had to work so hard,” she said bitterly, His rough finger poked her nose at this.

  “You’ve got to rein in that bravado.” He wore a weary smirk, but his words were entirely serious, she could tell.

  She was so embarrassed that she couldn’t keep looking at him.

  Turning her head aside as if to escape the nose poke, she looked out from under the blankets with only one eye.

  “Honestly, it was quite an embarrassment to deal with in front of Norah.”

  That’s because the feast got wasted, thought Holo to herself, curling up.

  He had surely been distracted enough because of her.

  Even if she hadn’t already felt bad, hearing this kind of thing was enough to make her pretend.

  She gave him a wounded glance, which was returned by an amazed look.

  “Anyway, I’ll get you some more suitable comfort food, so make sure to rest and gather your strength, all right? Then you can have as much food and wine as you like.”

  Her ears pricked up at the promise of “as much…as you like,” but more than that, her chest ached at the notion of some comfort food.

  Even before the hundreds of years she’d stayed in the village, she’d often heard that when people were sick, they were given the most luxurious food to make up for it.

  When wolves became sick, they simply didn’t eat, of course, but humans had the opposite idea.

  She would simply have to pretend.

  Because more than anything else, she could finally turn his gaze away from the shepherdess.

  She wouldn’t let him get away.

  “When you’re so kind, I fear what’ll happen next.” She chose the wryest, most bravado-laden words she could.

  A wisewolf might collapse from exhaustion and be unable to move, but her mind still had to be sharp.

  Her companion smiled. “That’s my line,” he said.

  His finger touched her cheek, which she did indeed feel slightly feverish at, and she closed her eyes.

  The next morning, she opened her eyes beneath the blankets and listened carefully.

  She heard no foolish snoring. It seemed her companion was not in the room.

  She consulted her body. It was now merely tired, and while raw mutton was still out of the question, something cooked and lightly salted would be fine.

  Having been ordered to rest the previous night, she found the comfort food postponed.

  Being able to eat delicious things just because she felt fine was not likely to happen.

  While she had to sigh at herself for being so weak as to take a fever after less than a month of travel and this minor crisis, she also had to admit that this treatment was not bad at all.

  It had, after all, been thanks to said weakness that she’d been able to be with her companion like this.<
br />
  “You utter fool.”

  These words were clearly directed at herself, and she rustled about underneath the blankets before popping her head out.

  Having grown accustomed to waking outdoors with the scenery spreading out all around, she found rising inside this small box was not particularly enjoyable.

  Even the wagon bed, cramped and cold as it was, was preferable.

  It was a far better thing to wake under the great sky, swallow great breaths of endless fresh air, and be all alone, just the two of them, there in the landscape. She could accept a roof, but only if it was within the hollow of some great tree.

  She turned her head sideways as she thought of such things.

  There was no sign of anybody in the next bed, and a sniff of her nose told her that her companion’s scent was very thin.

  Surely he hadn’t gone to the church to pray for her return to health.

  The notion was absurd, but it would have made a top-class joke.

  She smiled to herself at the thought, but as no one else was there, it quickly faded.

  Her breath came out white in the chilly air, and she hugged the wheat husk–stuffed pillow.

  That softhearted dunce had no sense at all really.

  “Such a fool…,” she murmured, then tried to sit up but found the blankets surprisingly heavy.

  How many years had it been since she’d last collapsed in human form?

  She’d been sure it was impossible for her to become this weak over just one night but finally admitted it.

  “Hmph.”

  She’d wanted to spend some time grooming her tail but gave up trying to sit.

  Which meant—food. And she was thirsty. She’d eaten hardly anything the previous night.

  Where had her companion gone, and what was he doing?

  Back in Yoitsu, nursing someone to health meant staying close by them.

  It was inexcusable that he wasn’t beside her when she came awake, she angrily assured herself—but then she heard foot-steps.

  Instead of trying to sit, she pricked up her ears.

  It was very frustrating, and she hugged the pillow again.

  For just a moment, she was glad her companion was not there.

  “Are you awake?” he asked after giving the door a hesitant knock and opening it.

  If she’d been asleep, she wouldn’t have been able to answer, and if she was awake, it was a meaningless question, she thought. “Can’t you tell by looking?” she asked back.