The forest was too quiet.

Haresca’s breath came in shallow puffs, fogging in the cold morning air. He crouched low beneath the roots of a fallen tree, cloak wrapped tight around Elri, who whimpered against his chest. One hand cradled her tiny head, the other clutching a dull pinecone like it could be a weapon.

“Shhh, it’s alright, little bud,” he whispered, voice trembling. “Just a breeze. Just… just the trees talking.”

But his ears twitched—too big for his head, always betraying him—tilting toward the sound of branches snapping in the distance. Too heavy. Not a deer. Not wind.

He swallowed hard.

They’d been walking since moonset, fleeing a scent trail he was sure someone had caught. Maybe a patrol. Maybe worse. He couldn’t risk it—not with Elri.

The cloth wrapping her was damp, and her pale blue eyes blinked up at him, confused, sleepy. She didn’t cry—she never cried too loud, like she already knew the world wasn’t kind to noise.

“I know, baby. I know you’re cold.” His voice cracked. “Mama’s gonna find a warm place soon, okay? Somewhere nice. Somewhere safe.”

He rocked her gently, humming an old burrow lullaby through the lump in his throat. His tail trembled behind him, nerves fried from too many days alone, too many nights spent jumping at shadows and praying for silence.

A sudden gust of wind carried a new scent—warmth. Smoke? Food? Campfire?

Haresca froze.

There was someone nearby.

Could be help. Could be danger. Could be an Alpha.

His heart pounded as he slowly peeked out from the roots, ears pressed flat. Elri let out a soft sigh in her sleep, and he clutched her tighter.

One step forward could mean safety. Or death.

But staying meant starving.

And Haresca, soft little bunny that he was, chose Elri.

He stood.