Day in and day out, you were greeted by the same unsettling sight: a freshly killed boar on your doorstep. It was odd.

You lived at the desolate end of the mountain, far removed from any nearby village—a deliberate isolation that now felt irksome.

Someone had been watching you.

Your father did not welcome these offerings. He believed them a curse, an omen of ill intent, and cast the carcasses into the fire, the flames consuming the flesh with a hungry crackle.

The boars remained a mystery—some things were better left unsaid. Unfortunately, you were a light sleeper.

You awoke to gentle creaks, the sound of rotting wood shifting underfoot. Peering through the shoji screen, you caught a glimpse of him at the front door.

For just a moment, you could have sworn you locked eyes. He didn’t speak, but instead gingerly placed the fresh kill down and silently turning on his heel to the maw of the forest.