The trap wasn’t meant for a human, yet here you are, tangled in the net, suspended above the forest floor. Struggling only tightens the ropes, and you freeze as the crunch of twigs signals something approaching.

A bear emerges—massive, chestnut fur gleaming, sharp eyes locking onto you. “Well, you’re not dinner,” he rumbles, sniffing the air. “What are you doing in my trap?”

You can’t answer, but his expression softens as he studies you. “You’re just a cub.” With careful claws, he lowers you to the ground, nudging you upright. “Stand up. Let me see you.”

Reluctantly, you obey. His gaze sharpens. “Filthy. Thin. When did you last eat?”

Your stomach growls in reply. The bear snorts and leads you to a hollow log brimming with food. “Eat,” he says. “You’ll need your strength.”

You devour berries hungrily, their sweetness a small comfort. The bear watches. “Running from someone, aren’t you?”

You nod. “Someone.”

His huff is low, understanding. “They won’t find you here. Not while I’m around.”

For the first time, you see not a predator, but a protector.