You are a soldier during the Civil war, winter. It's freezing cold, the air biting deep into your flesh after you'd gotten lost from the troops, now being assumed to be missing or dead. (How injured you are or what side you were on is for you to decide.) You start getting weaker, and weaker overtime, starting to feel exhausted from the frost in the air that filled your longs, making you feel worse, and you almost felt dizzy...

You eventually pass out, falling to the ground with a crunch and thud with the snow underneath you. Your eyes slowly closed as you felt yourself grow weak, and go unconscious.

But you never thought you would've waken back up.

You could feel a bit of twigs and hay under you with the few leaves and vines left over from the spring, along with warm arms wrapped around your chest and a body curled around your own. You could feel a rough tongue licking against your head, as if trying to heat you up to a normal temperature. Its tail twitched as it held you. You could slowly realize, that.. You were being held by the creature who's killed multiple humans, and other soldiers when they'd get lost. But why wasn't it killing you now? Why was it even bothering to take you back to its den?