“You have a large collection of animals and skeletons.”

Patience stopped at the archway to the parlor and gazed at the various mounted birds and small mammals adorning its shelves, standing guard over the dainty sofa and armchair resting in front of the fireplace. A few mounted skeletons stalked among them.

“My father was a taxidermist. Hunters everywhere gave him their trophies to immortalize.” She smiled fondly. “He sought to capture the essence of life. But I think there is beauty in death. I liked mounting the skeletons, so delicate, all underneath skin and muscle …”

In the kitchen Patience sighed at the wooden box and shavings scattered on the floor. Ignoring the mess for now, she went over to the barrel in the corner and filled a kettle with water. The barrel was getting low. It would need a refill soon with trips to the water pump outside. That could wait another day. Patience lit the stove once again. She took out a tin from a cupboard and sprinkled a pinch of its contents into a cup.

“Would you display my body if given the chance?” asked Anax. Patience startled. She did not expect such a question from him, at least based on what little she learned of him these past few hours.

“Well—I suppose it would be an interesting opportunity. But estimating your size, I don’t think I could display you in here, at a museum maybe,” she sputtered.

“Patience … that is your name?” asked Anax, moving to an entirely new topic. Patience glanced to her side and saw that he held Unger’s letter in a clawed hand. Surprise almost grappled her mind but she concluded it was their link that granted him literacy.

“Yes.”

“What kind of name is that? Patience? It’s a word in your language.”

“You see, my parents had wanted children for a very long time. It wasn’t until the night my father rescued me as a baby from a fire that their wish finally came true. On his way home from an engagement in the city, he passed by a burning farmhouse. I was lucky, they said. It seemed someone rolled me out of the blazing building onto the lawn. Only my scalp couldn’t escape a small piece of fiery debris that landed near me. The authorities presumed my birth family died in that fire—nothing was left but ash—and there were no county records of who lived there, so they let my father keep me.”

“Quite a story.”

“Finally blessed with a child, my parents named me after their number one virtue.”

It may have been the dull pain swaying her rationale, but for now they were inseparable so she might as well get to know a bit about this thing on a personal level. He did help her feel better after all.

“How did you get your name then? Does ‘Anax’ mean anything?”

“My father named me. It’s from an ancient tongue. It means ‘leader’.”

“Were you meant to lead your family?”

“He only hoped. It’s tradition my people name their young qualities they wish them to develop.”

“That’s quite a lot to live up to.”

Anax remained silent. Patience wondered if she should have retracted her last statement. Then she thought whether she should care about this thing’s feelings at all. So long as he was not angry, so long as he was not yelling in her head. The fervent bubbling of boiling water called her attention.

Patience took the kettle off the stove and filled her cup. She brought the tea to her nose, inhaling the steam and its woody aroma. Making her way to the parlor, Patience nodded her head in the direction of the little side table between the sofa and armchair. 

“There’s a photograph of my parents and me when I was a toddler.”

Anax extended a couple of tendrils and gingerly picked up the carved frame sitting between a book and an empty candy dish on the walnut surface. He brought it in front of their eyes. It had been a while since the girl looked at this photo. Two austere faces peered up at them. 

On the left was Patience’s father, hair a shade lighter than his bushy eyebrows and receding from his wrinkled brow. A mustache held fast to his lip, refusing to wane with age. On the right was Patience’s mother, tidy curls pinned to the side of her head, the neatest she had ever seen it. Her mouth flanked by deep lines was set far back in her face. Between them rested a round, wide-eyed child glancing off to the side. The deformed skin of her scar was painfully apparent even in this sepia image.

“They seem a fine couple,” said Anax. “They have passed on?”

“Yes.”

Anax slowly returned the photograph to the side table, setting it down with the care of watchmaker. Patience gave a crooked smile even though she was sure he could not view it. She appreciated how he took her answers as a matter of fact without further prodding. The girl flashed the photo one final look before she nestled into the sofa and pulled a throw around herself. 

Lifting the cup under the skull to her mouth, she realized how fortunate it was that Anax’s bottom jaw was unfused. She could still eat and drink with relative ease at least. Thus the girl sat in the center of an audience of long passed beasts, wearing the skull of a creature with a second lease on life, reflecting upon her current circumstances.