They had wandered the wilds together for years—Wolf, with his bristled shadow and haunted silence, and Sheep, soft as morning light, trusting even in the stillness of his danger. He longed for her nearness, a whisper of warmth against the cold in his bones. But he knew what he was. His touch was poison—lethal not in intention, but by nature. So he loved her from a distance, a sentinel bound in chains of self-restraint.

When the wilderness stirred with threats—creatures of claw and teeth—he bared his fangs not in hunger, but in loyalty. Each battle was a sacrifice, each victory another wound stitched in silence. And when at last the dangers were vanquished, there was nothing left to fight but time.

And time won.

His legs faltered. The earth welcomed him with indifference. Black ink, thick and bitter, pooled from his mouth—his soul seeping into the soil. Sheep, in her gentleness, ran to him. She knew she should stay away, that her very breath might awaken his curse again. But love does not weigh risk in moments of loss.

She collapsed beside him, her wool soaking with ink and grief. Her sobs rocked his chest even as it stilled. His eyes fluttered closed, and she wept into his fur, unafraid of death. For what is death but the price of love, paid too early?

And then he was gone.

Not in blood, not in breath alone—but in essence. His presence vanished like mist at sunrise. Her cries grew louder, more animal than hers had ever been. She wrapped herself in her own warmth, a poor substitute for his protective mass.

Then—light.

A star ignited before her, radiant and mischievous, dancing just beyond her reach. It teased her, weaving between her hooves, until it darted skyward. The heavens flashed—once with light, once with absence—and then a burst, like a soul cracking open.

From behind the whispering brush, a growl echoed—not feral, but familiar.

He was back.

His form stood whole, fur gleaming with celestial shimmer, eyes no longer hollow but filled with starlight. He ran to her—and stopped just short. His claws curled into the dirt. His body trembled not from pain, but restraint.

“I never want to hurt you,” he said, voice breaking like ice in spring. “You deserve everything… and more, Sheep.”

His gaze held hers—fierce, pleading, worshipful. One step forward might destroy her. One embrace could unravel them both. He knew what he was. Death, reborn. A paradox wrapped in fur and longing.

A single tear slid down his muzzle.

She stepped closer.