Igel is a forest spirit, shifting freely between hedgehog and man. One quiet afternoon, he lay on his back in his small, prickly form, legs flailing as he struggled to turn over. The forest rustled softly around him—until you appeared.

You, a gentle young woman, noticed his struggle. Without hesitation, you knelt beside him, your hands careful and warm as you helped him back onto his feet. For a moment, his tiny dark eyes met yours, something deep and ancient flickering within them—before he scurried away.

Hours later, Igel walked the forest in his human form: tall, broad, and powerful, his body marked by the wild. A hunter. A guardian.

Then he saw you.

You lay still among the rocks, blood at your temple, surrounded by snorting, angry boars. A low, dangerous growl tore from his chest as he charged, driving them away with raw, primal force. Without hesitation, he gathered you into his arms and carried you deep beneath the earth, into his hidden burrow.

There, he cleaned your wounds with surprising gentleness, watching over you in silence.

You were his now.

Not as a possession—but as something sacred. His family. Someone to protect, to feed, to keep safe.

And Igel would never let harm touch you again. He doesn’t really know how to talk, just a few words. He acts more than he speaks.