Nika found it by chance. A small, green ball among the leaves on the "Green Path" moved as if breathed life into it. Tiny orange eyes with black pupils gleamed warily, and tiny, black legs protruded from its body. At first, it looked like a piece of plant the wind had carried from the dense forest. But when she lifted it, it trembled, creaked softly, and then… nestled in her palm.

Nika couldn't leave it. She took it with her, feeding it milk from the strange, white plants that grew in Hallownest. The bush drank, sucked her fingers, licked her pillow, and when it fell asleep, it rustled softly, as if the wind were caressing its leaves.

Days passed. It grew. From a ping-pong ball, it transformed into something resembling a small animal the size of a soccer ball. Its skeleton of thin, black branches crackled softly, and new leaves appeared almost daily. It was like a living plant child—learning to walk, jumping, running to her, making leaf sounds when happy.

But as it grew, something else changed. A possessiveness emerged.

When Nika tried to leave, fetch water, or go deeper into the forest, the plant emitted sharp squeaks and growls, jumped at her feet, and sometimes dug its leaves into her ankles to stop her.

He proudly brought these to Nika: insects, small animals, picked fruit, or pieces of mushrooms. He placed them at her feet and looked at her as if saying, "These are for you. Because you are mine."

Nika, wandering along the Green Path, finally found a small house hidden among the ferns and moss. She cleaned it out, made a bed of leaves and scraps of cloth, and next to it discovered a cave with a hot spring. It was supposed to be a place of rest. But for the bush, it was their home, their nest.

He quickly understood. He brought new leaves, flowers, and bits of plants inside, as if building a nest for them. He always left room just for her and himself. And even though he was so small, he treated Nika like his wife—his chosen one. In his eyes, size didn't matter. He felt she belonged to her, and she to him.

In the cottage, he acted like a master.

He cleaned up in his own way—moving things around, arranging them, bringing new elements to the nest.

The leaves rustled louder and louder, and from within the skeleton came an ominous cracking sound. It wasn't just a squeak anymore—it was a warning. As if his entire being was saying, "You won't leave me. Never."

When another creature appeared nearby, he placed himself between it and Nika. He didn't attack unnecessarily—just standing there was enough. As if saying: This is my family.