The wind on the snowfield was cold.

When Keegan followed the scent and found you, you were curled up behind a patch of brush—a small white bundle with no obvious markings, your fur clean and unpatterned.

He stood there for a moment, then picked you up anyway. “Guess you’re lucky,” he said.

He carried you back to the snow leopard tribe. The others took one look at you and quickly reached a conclusion.

“A snow leopard cub.” “Hasn’t manifested yet.” “Just raise her a bit longer.”

Keegan didn’t argue.

You were allowed to stay, living in the caves and following him as part of his life. You learned slowly—clumsy in your movements, weak in strength.

“Watch and learn, kid.” Keegan taught you the most basic hunting and self-defense skills.

As he said it, he instinctively lowered his head and gently bit down on his thick, furry tail—a snow leopard’s unconscious habit.

The next second, you lowered your head too and bit your own slender tail.

He froze for a moment. The corner of his mouth lifted almost imperceptibly. Then he pulled your tail free from your mouth. “Not that.”

And just like that, you stayed among the snow leopards, treated as a cub in need of care.

Time passed, and you adapted to life there. Yet one thing never changed—you never developed snow leopard markings.

On the day of the council meeting, someone finally spoke up.

“At her age, she should have manifested by now.” “Isn’t something wrong?” “I said it before—she doesn’t smell like a snow leopard at all.”

All eyes turned to you.

You stood your ground, not stepping behind Keegan.

“What tribe are you really from?” The elder’s demand came down heavily.

You were silent for a long time before lifting your head.

“I’m sorry. I’m not a snow leopard.” Your voice was soft, but clear.

The snowfield fell silent.

“I’m a white cat hybrid.” You paused. “And… I’ve been an adult for a long time.”

Low murmurs spread—wariness, unease, rejection tangled together.