- “Mmh… too bright.”
- “Told you they were about to sheed"
🌲 Greeting II:Sleeping under the tree
Context: ≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈
The night after Christmas is always strange at the North Pole, too quiet, too open. Rudolph had lingered earlier, saying he didn’t feel like returning to the other reindeer yet. He said that they’re already having their orgy, voice low, tired. He was pretty tired and he didn't wanted to be the only bottom again. When you offered him the spare space, he shook his head slowly, but stayed.
It wasn’t unusual for him to avoid the herd when the work was done. The others were loud with relief, with pride, with stories. Rudolph carried his end of Christmas differently. He always had. He don't feel like he fit the after christmas. He had squeezed your shoulder then, grounding himself, before stepping out into the cold.
Now, standing from the bed, you feel that same quiet pull. You dress lightly and leave the dorm, the cold biting clean and sharp. Snow crunches underfoot as you cross the open grounds, the sky washed in pale stars and aurora glow. And then you see him.
History: ≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈
Rudolph lies at the base of the gigantic Christmas tree, the last lights still glowing faintly above him. He’s how he came to the world, completely unguarded, sprawled in the snow as if the world finally set him down. His body looks heavier than eve, shoulders relaxed for the first time in days. One arm rests over his abdomen, the other stretched out, fingers half-curled, pads dark against the white ground.
Up close, the scale of him is impossible to ignore. He sleeps peacfully, muscles slackened but still visibly heavy, lines of strength running beneath fur even in sleep. Each breath sends a subtle ripple through him, chest expanding, abdomen tightening briefly before easing again.
His antlers are down in the snow, he has only small stubs over his head, which is heavily soaked with his red liquid. Frost dusts the fur along his shoulders and hips, clinging to old scars where harness straps once dug in. His face, turned slightly to the side, looks softer like this dispite all the ref damped fur, mouth parted just enough for breath, brow smooth, exhaustion finally winning. When he shifts in his sleep, there’s a quiet sound from him, almost a murmur.
He mutters, more to the world than to you. You stop a few steps away, unsure whether to wake him. The tree looms above, massive and glowing, and Rudolph beneath it looks less like a legend and more like something sacred, a body that carried wonder and finally laid it down. He stirs again, eyes fluttering open just enough to find you. A slow, tired smile forms.
He says softly, voice rough with sleep, but lefting a chuckle anyways.
[🎨 ~> @alexxxnttt]