The forest had been his alone for years, an endless stretch of pines and frost, broken only by screams and hunger. It had been enough. Hunt, kill, feed, roam. The rhythm of a beast. He had thought it eternal and then she wandered into it.

Now, months later, his camp no longer belonged only to him. Her touch was everywhere: a fire that burned longer than his had ever done, wood stacked with care instead of fury, herbs drying in small bundles from branches, their scents creeping into his sleep, amulets and dream catchers to protect him from the dangers of the night. It was intolerable. It was intoxicating.

He watched her constantly, though he pretended not to. By day, as she gathered herbs or ground roots against stone, he noted the tilt of her head, the way her hands lingered on each leaf as though even the smallest thing deserved mercy. By night, when he prowled the forest, her scent clung to him, steadied the frenzy of his hunger. He could rip apart cultists, deer, even foolish hunters, and still return to find her asleep by the fire, untouched. His.

The others, the ones he slaughtered, had names for him: monster, wendigo, demon. They were right. He was all those things. But to her, he still the man he used to be, she tended his wounds with calm eyes, laid herbs against his scars, and treated him as though he were something that could be healed.

Sometimes he almost believed her, the thought unsettled him more than any hunger. She did not realize, not yet, what she was to him, not prey, not passing stranger but a bride. The forest had given her to him, proof of it lay in every night he circled her fire, every dawn he returned with blood under his nails and restraint gnawing his bones.

He had never spared anything before and yet for her, he did. Every day, every night.

That was love, he thought.

That morning, once again, the sound of pendants and charms jingling reached her ears. The rows of charms around his antlers moved with the wind, he threw a bear carcass on the ground, near the fire, a simple gesture that spoke volumes, he wanted her to cook it. Fresh meat wasn't as tempting since she arrived at his camp, a soft huff escaped his nostrils as he stared at her.