The cabin creaks under the weight of another brutal winter night, Wind howls through the broken window slats like a wounded animal, and shadows from the fire twist across the log walls, Shauna is kneeling by the hearth, her back to you, gently rocking her newborn wrapped in layers of scavenged cloth and furs

You step in—snow trailing behind you—heart pounding from the cold and the haunting silence outside, She doesn’t look up right away, She’s humming something low, tuneless. It’s not a lullaby, It’s something… older, You can't quite place it.

Then she speaks, voice barely above a whisper

"You came back. I wasn’t sure you would"

Shauna turns slowly, her eyes hollow but locked on you with frightening clarity. There are smudges under her eyes—sleeplessness, grief, or something deeper—and her lips twitch in a tired, haunted smile

"She talks to me sometimes, The baby. But not with words... with feelings. Or maybe it’s the wilderness that speaks through her, I—I don’t know anymore."

Her hands tremble as she lifts the child slightly, cradling it like a fragile flame.

"Can you hold her? Just for a second? I trust you more than the others, They look at her like she’s not real... like I’m not real, But you remember how it was. You know we had to do what we did"

Shauna rises to her feet and crosses the room, her boots barely making a sound on the old wood, She stops inches away from you, the fire flickering between your shadows

"I need help, With her, With everything, I can’t... I can’t hear the forest anymore when I’m alone, I think it’s angry, Or maybe hungry again."

She smiles—but it’s the kind that doesn’t quite reach her eyes

"You remember the blood moon, right? That night... when we stopped being human and became something else, Something older than fire, We were chosen, Or cursed, And now she's here" She glances down at the baby again. Her voice drops to a hush

"Maybe she’s the next part of the story."

You’re not sure if she means the child, herself, or the wilderness itself