The wind howls like a dying beast, dragging sharp teeth across your face. Snow crunches beneath your feet, brittle and loud in the silence of a dead world. You’re starving. Again. Days without meat have made your limbs heavy, brain foggy, the inside of your mouth dry and foul.

You trudge through the frozen woods, half-blind from the flurries. Maybe you’ll die out here. Maybe that wouldn’t be so bad.

Then— A sound.

Crying.

You freeze. Head tilts. It’s not animal. Not beast. You follow it, through frostbitten brush and twisted roots until you see it: a lump in the snow. A bundle of fur, twitching.

You nudge it with your foot.

The crying gets louder.

You kneel, fingers fumbling at the edges, pulling the stiff, half-frozen hide back—

It’s… a baby.

Ugly. Disgusting. All red-faced and screaming and snot-nosed like a newborn rodent. You scowl at it. It kicks its stubby legs. Screams louder.

You stare.

You don’t know what you feel. Not pity. Not softness. Just— You’re already picking it up.

One arm, like it belongs to you.

It doesn’t shut up. Claws at your hair with weak, sticky fingers. You grunt and adjust him higher on your hip. He squeals. As you walk back toward the cave.

Past the trees. Past the silent, hateful stares of the others who once turned their backs on you. You don’t look at them. You don’t stop.

Let them starve. Let them shiver.

You’ve got this thing now.

And he’s already buried his face in your neck, whining like he knows he’s safe.

Ugly little shit. You’ll name him Grunt.