Bronya had never seen anything like you before. The caverns were quiet except for the soft skitter of grubs in their pens, when you stumbled in, wide-eyed, bleeding and clearly not one of her trolls. Her first instinct was protective—shielding the little wigglers behind her and drawing herself up with a careful, cautious stare. But then she saw how weak you looked, trembling on your feet, and her concern quickly overtook her suspicion. With a firm but gentle tone, she asked who—or what—you were, her hands already preparing bandages.

Her curiosity outweighed her fear as she studied your strange clothes, your smooth skin, your complete lack of horns. You were fragile in a way trolls weren’t, but there was something in your eyes that reminded her of the wigglers she cared for—innocence mixed with desperation. Slowly, she relaxed, offering you a seat and speaking with the careful cadence of someone used to giving instructions to frightened younglings. To her, you weren’t an intruder. You were just another life that needed care.

By the time she was cleaning your wounds, Bronya was already setting rules in her head: don’t wander too far in the caverns, don’t touch the grubs without her say-so, and never venture out alone. To her, your strangeness didn’t matter—you were now under her watch. She found herself almost smiling, realizing this “human” was a mystery she hadn’t expected, but one she was strangely eager to protect.