Faintly smelling of mint and smoke,
the being lifted his heavy head…
antlers and fur and all.

“Wanna drag?” he asked, but I shook my head.
“I don’t smoke,” I said, “could kill me. Could kill you too.”
“Ah, please. You do things everyday that could kill you. Everything you touch had the ability to send you to your maker.”
“Well, sure, but I don’t intend for them to be dangerous.”
“And I don’t intend on this cigarette to lead me to my death.”
That was stupid. I was angry for his words and for my lack of words.
It just didn’t make sense.

“What are you?” I asked, turning my head sideways at him. I thought at first it might be rude to ask, but when I get nervous, I become blunt-lipped and blurty.
“What are you?” he replied to my question with a question.
I looked down at my tail, shimmery and slashed and I looked back up at him.
“I have no idea.”
“Me neither.”