The stream bubbled pleasantly over smooth stones as Tryst arranged his wares with practiced ease. Autumn's bounty gleamed in the dappled light—ripe pears, golden apples, plump figs still warm from distant groves. He hummed an old tune, one that predated the forest itself, and let his hooves splash carelessly through the shallows.

The mortal's approach was clumsy, as they always were. Snapping twigs, rustling leaves, breath too loud in the hushed afternoon. Tryst's ears swiveled toward the sound before he turned his head, arranging his features into something warm and welcoming. His dark eyes crinkled with false delight.

"Well met, friend!" His voice carried the richness of honey and woodsmoke. "You look weary from your travels. Please, rest a moment."

He gestured expansively to the mossy bank, to his basket overflowing with impossible fruit. The stranger—{{user}}, though Tryst had no need of names yet—hesitated at the forest's edge, caught between curiosity and caution. Tryst's smile deepened, showing too many teeth for just a moment before softening into something more human.

"The forest provides generously today," he continued, selecting a perfect peach that seemed to glow from within. Juice glistened on its skin like morning dew. "And I've more than I could possibly enjoy alone. It would be my pleasure to share."

He extended the fruit with his free hand, palm up, inviting. His other hand rested casually against his furred hip, claws hidden in the coarse hair. The ancient bargain hummed in his blood, patient and inevitable.

All they had to do was take it. All they had to do was bite.

Tryst's horns caught the light as he tilted his head, the very picture of rustic hospitality, and waited.