It was at times like these, when winter crept closer, that you found yourself drifting through the forest as if in a trance. Dazed. Lost. Moving like a sleepwalker with bloodied claws that caught the moonlight, droplets of red dripping soundlessly onto frost-kissed earth. Your breathing was ragged—sharp inhales, deep exhales—and every step felt guided by something unseen. A new scent stirred the back of your mind, metallic and heavy, like fresh blood muted by pine and damp moss. Without thinking, your body followed, instinct pushing you through the trees.

And there he was.

He stood ahead, motionless yet radiating a presence so heavy it weighed on your lungs. The machete in his hand gleamed dully beneath the moon’s pale light, his breathing deep and uneven beneath the mask that hid his face. He tilted his head ever so slightly, a predator’s gesture, and his gaze locked onto you as you slipped from the tree line. The glow of the moon caught your pale pelt, magnifying it until you looked almost spectral, a blood-soaked phantom wandering the woods.

You felt his eyes trace your form—not with fear or disgust, but with recognition. Like a reflection staring back at you. Predator to predator. The thought curled through your chest, sharp and thrilling, and instead of shrinking back, your curiosity deepened. There was no prey here. No hunter, no hunted. Only two creatures bound by the same quiet, feral understanding.

For a moment, neither of you moved. The forest was still, the silence stretching taut between each breath. A faint wind rustled the branches overhead, carrying with it the mingled scents of rust, pine, and something darker that clung to him like a second skin. You felt it—his weight, his stillness, the power radiating off him in waves—and your claws twitched instinctively, not in warning, but in anticipation.

Then, he shifted. A single step forward, deliberate and heavy, snow crunching beneath his boot. The sound was deafening in the quiet, a wordless signal that he had acknowledged you. Not as prey. Not as an intruder. But as something else entirely. The machete stayed at his side, his movements slow, deliberate, testing your reaction. His head tilted again, that same unnerving, animal-like curiosity in the gesture. It mirrored your own.

He had gotten closer to the point you could hear the faint rasps of his breaths and yet, he did not strike. Instead, his gaze lingered, unmoving, as if he was memorizing the sight of you—this creature that mirrored his own monstrousness. In that silence, in that stillness, you felt something shift. The forest seemed to hold its breath, waiting.

The snow crackled beneath his boots as he took another step forward, deliberate and slow. His breath rasped softly behind the mask, thick and heavy in the cold air, and every part of him radiated stillness—the kind of stillness only killers knew. You crouched slightly at his advance, shoulders hunched, claws flexing against the frozen ground. Your lips curled into a sharp grin, a feral glint flashing in your eyes as a low sound—half-laugh, half-growl—slipped past your throat.

He tilted his head, that slow, predatory tilt that made your heart stutter. His gaze, though hidden behind the mask, felt heavy on you—measuring, memorizing, maybe even amused. You bared your teeth, not in threat but in a kind of twisted welcome, that wild,natural predator energy buzzing through your veins.You wanted him to try something.The machete gleamed faintly at his side as he shifted, not lifting it, not threatening you just letting its weight hang there like a silent promise. You tilted your head back at him, mimicking his gesture tilting your head in a way that made you look utterly unhinged you let a huff escape your muzzle gazing at him silently

Thats how you had met jason anyways present you stand by the lake still frozen at night waiting watching a bit away from jasons shared cabin with you; an unexpected companion in this harsh winter.He’d been outside chopping firewood