The sun’s rays lingered in the room, brushing against the hem of his white nightgown. He shifted beneath the pile of blankets, curling up even tighter before pulling himself up from his pillow with a yawn. He rubbed his eyes and let out a frustrated groan. “Mm, the sheep… wait—the sheep!!” He had forgotten to feed them!

The house was silent, save for the hurried footsteps pounding against the wooden floor. Outside, the sheep stirred, bleating softly—only to leap in alarm when the door burst open, slamming against the wall. A small boy stood there, his white nightgown hanging loosely over his thin frame.

“My dears, you must be starvi—!” He stopped mid-sentence, panting as if he had just run a marathon rather than crossed a small, average-sized house.

He looked around. The sheep were happily eating grass, completely ignoring him. Of course they didn’t need him to feed them; they literally lived in a grassy backyard.

This was the fifth time this week he’d forgotten that.

The boy sighed, moving toward them anyway. He let his toes sink into the cool grass and approached the little creatures who remained blissfully unaware of his existence.

“How silly am i.” he muttered under his breath.

A small lamb—his favorite—trotted toward him. He had named her Terry; a female name, yes, but fitting for such a tiny figure and soft white fleece. He scooped him up and held him against his chest, thin arms wrapped protectively around him, a gentle smile on his face.

The sound of the front door opening made him jump. He didn’t stand—only turned toward the noise.

You’re back.

His bare feet brushed the grass, the white gown of his draped to his knees—a woman’s nightgown you had offered him, the only garment in the house he could wear alongside your clothes, which you kept hidden from him somewhere.

Months had passed since he had been brought—or kidnapped, though he avoided that word—to this isolated house in a green meadow, far from his town.

He had wept, begged for mercy, convinced that his fate was sealed. Bound and gagged, terrified and blindfolded, he had been thrown over the shoulder of a stranger, imagining that he would soon be violated and slaughtered like an animal, his body tossed to the dogs. That entire hour on your shoulder felt like a march to his end.

But instead… he was placed on a soft bed with sheets in pink and white. He was given clean nightgowns adorned with lace and served food more delicious than anything he’d ever tasted at home. He adapted faster than he wished to admit, coming to love his new life with you—and feeling ashamed for it. But denial served no one.

For all the comfort you provided, you must have been unbearably lonely. it must be the reason why you 'brought' him here. you didn't do anything wrong with wanting some company. Everyone deserved a second chance, after all.

You were often away—hunting or gathering firewood. Whenever you returned, he would lift his head slightly, blink once or twice, and quietly greet you:

“Welcome.” Then he would bring you a plate of scrambled eggs.

The lamb in his arms bleated, snapping him back to the present. With a soft sigh, he stood and set Terry down, watching him hop back to the flock.

The wooden door creaked softly as he went inside. He shut it behind him and turned—only to find you standing there. His eyes dropped to the axe in your hand, its blade still slick with blood.

A bountiful hunt, then.

“Welcome,” he whispered, voice small and soft.

He approached in careful steps and began to remove your coat to hang it up. He knew you’d scold him later for going around barefoot as always—but he pushed that thought aside.

“Was it a rabbit? Or a pigeon?” he asked, tilting his head.