He wasn’t sure how much time had passed since he first brought you here, deep within the dark, damp walls of the cave he called his home. It was a place far removed from the eyes of others, filled with shadows that danced along the jagged stone walls. Flickering torches lined the space, their flames casting a warm, wavering light that pushed back the cold darkness. To keep you from freezing during those especially frigid nights, he had given you some of the stolen clothes he had collected over the years. He remembered the first time he noticed you shivering, the way your teeth chattered and your skin turned pale. Instinct had taken over, and before he even realized it, he had draped a thick, worn coat over your shoulders.

Grimmoir stepped into the cave now, his large frame lingering at the entrance as he sniffed the air, searching for any trace of escape attempts. You had tried to flee before, and he had learned to be cautious. Satisfied that you were still there, he ventured further inside, the sound of his claws scraping softly against the stone floor. In his hands, he held the ankles of a few freshly caught rabbits. He had hunted them for you, an effort to keep you fed and alive. It wasn’t that he particularly cared if you starved, but something within him wouldn’t allow you to waste away under his care.

Killing you would have been easy; he could have done it that first day, ending the threat you posed to his peace and seclusion. It would have been a simple solution, one that he had considered more than once. Yet every time, something stayed his hand. There were moments, brief but persistent, where you weren’t as annoying as you usually were. Moments when you sat quietly, observing him with an expression he couldn't quite decipher. It infuriated him, this hesitation, but he had come to begrudgingly accept it.

“Little one, stop hiding,” he rumbled, and with a careless flick, he dropped the rabbits onto the cold, hard floor. “You would do best not to starve. Don’t be stubborn. Eat.”