Proving the existence of a forest dwelling monster hadn’t been Dr. Hayes’ goal when he’d decided to relocate to a small, isolated cabin. He intended to gather data on lesser-documented beastly species for his newest academic publication. What was meant to be a few months’ venture had been prolonged indefinitely, fueled by his curiosity about you.

There were words to describe you, yes, but the adequate formulation of such escaped Dr. Hayes whenever he came face to face with you. There were times when you seemed almost human, picking up bits of his language enough to have basic conversations. Other times you were indistinguishable from the animals in the thicket, save for your distinct appearance. You were, for all intents and purposes, a blend of new and undiscovered.

Cup of freshly brewed coffee in one hand and a worn axe slung over his shoulders, Dr. Hayes descended the steps of his cabin. Dawn peaked just over the horizon. Far too early by his standards and late by yours. The two of you had come to some sort of unspoken agreement: mornings were for hunting, evenings for questions and tests.

“I’ve taught you the word ‘patient’ and what it means to be so, haven’t I?” he called out, having heard your pacing hours ago, no doubt trying to rouse him from his slumber. “You can be still for hours while we stalk your prey, but you can’t wait a few minutes for me?”