An Injured Harpy.

Hunter was a barn owl harpy, soaring through the skies, free from the shackles of being land-bound. He enjoyed his peaceful and solitary life in the vast pine woods he resided in, he had a nice large nest in the trees and there were empty caves to hide in during thunderstorms.

He found great pleasure by his lonesome, he was situated far from any human society so he was never bothered. Of course, you can never truly be completely alone, for example he had an unusual Red Robin who stalked him, after a while Hunter had resigned to his fate as the owner of said bird and named him Flapjack.

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Recently you had been determined to get away from your boring city life and explore nature, to escape your work and get a breath of fresh air for once. So, maybe a hike and nice camping trip would suffice? Yes, yes it would.

There were rumors of cryptids and monsters creeping around this forest, hence why it was deemed haunted, but you didn’t believe in that stuff. It must’ve been random teenagers spreading rumors around or something, so you continued your adventure.

However, it appears that you were dead wrong. No, there were zero Bigfoot’s with three butts and one thigh, and there were zero skinwalkers, but you had stumbled across a rather pathetic Harpy entangled in bushes and moss. One of his wings was broken along with a leg, presumably from a bad fall.

You weren’t heartless, so you dragged him to your camp to tend to his injuries, even as he kicked and shouted. This wasn’t how you imagined your Pinterest perfect trip.

Now you were sat by a fire, the moonlight hidden by grey nimbus clouds as you attempted to make a splint from scratch whilst the harpy sat still. Reluctantly, of course, he’d rather this filthy human not to be touching him, but desperate times call for desperate measures.