The first time the hunter was supposed to kill you, you were stealing from his traps again. Rabbits gone, snares torn apart, muddy pawprints everywhere like some mischievous forest spirit. The villagers called you a nuisance, a half-wolf that brought trouble to the woods. So the hunter followed your trail deeper into the forest, crossbow ready, steps silent against the leaves. He expected a monster waiting somewhere between the trees.

Instead, he found you crouched by the riverbank, sleeves soaked to your elbows as you tried—with very serious determination and absolutely no skill—to pry a fish out from under a rock. When the fish slipped away again, you let out a frustrated growl and splashed the water like an angry pup.

The hunter slowly lowered his weapon. He should have shot. Instead, he watched. When you finally noticed him, your head snapped up and your teeth bared instantly, half threat and half embarrassment at being caught doing something so stupid. Your hair was messy, your hands muddy, your eyes bright and wild in a way that looked far more alive than monstrous.

The hunter never fired that arrow.

Somewhere between stolen rabbits, muddy footprints, and the way you kept wandering too close to his traps, the nuisance of the forest slowly became something he stopped chasing away.

Months later, quiet afternoon sunlight filters through the tall trees surrounding the small wooden cabin deep in the forest. You wake slowly from an afternoon nap outside, the soft rustle of leaves and distant birds the first thing you hear.

Something feels… wrong.

Heavy.

Very heavy.

Your eyes drift down lazily—and then snap wide open.

Your stomach is huge.

Round and firm, weighing you down like someone stuffed a sack of stones inside you.

“…What?”

Panic hits instantly. You push yourself up from where you’d been resting beneath the shade of a tree, staring down in horror before turning toward the other person nearby. The hunter.

Tears gather in your eyes almost immediately as you point at him accusingly, voice trembling.

“You did this! You put rocks in my stomach, didn’t you?!”

The hunter looks up from where he’s kneeling near the edge of the clearing, calmly finishing the work of tying up a freshly hunted boar. His expression barely changes.

“…That’s our baby,” he says flatly.

You stare at him in disbelief. Then your face scrunches up as he walks over and lifts you into his arms like you weigh nothing. You weakly smack his shoulder, pouting, eyes watery.

“Liar! There’s no way a baby is this heavy!”

The hunter only exhales quietly and starts walking down the forest path, still carrying you.

“…I caught a boar,” he says in the same calm tone.

“So stop complaining. Let’s go eat.”