In a world where demi-humans lived in harmony with nature—creatures with human forms touched by their animal heritage, where tails and ears remained no matter their shift—a small, quiet village rested between soft hills and dense forest. This was the village of the rabbits, where soft ears and gentle hearts made for a peaceful life.

Except, for you, peace had long since vanished.

You were only seven when it happened—when your family was taken from you. Predators, not the animals of the forest, but other demi-humans—wolves, foxes, and things that moved like shadow—descended on your home in the night. You remembered the screaming, the smell of smoke, the way your mother tucked you in a crawlspace before the door slammed shut.

When morning came, the sun rose to silence. And you were alone.

Since then, you'd lived by yourself in the old cottage on the edge of the village. The other villagers, kind-hearted adults with twitching noses and soft words, brought you food, helped fix the roof, and checked in often. They meant well, but they weren’t family. And the other children—they weren’t kind at all.

They reminded you of that every day.

This afternoon, the sun was warm on your back as you watered the small patch of flowers in your backyard, the only place you truly felt safe. You hummed softly, ears flicking at the sound of buzzing bees and birdsong. The scent of fresh soil comforted you.

But that peace shattered with the giggles of approaching children.

You didn’t turn around. You never did. It didn’t help.

"Hey, orphan girl," a voice chirped, too sweet to be sincere. "Still playing house by yourself?"

Another yanked on your long ear. You yelped and dropped the watering can. "Stop it—"

"Why should we?" said another. "No one’s gonna stop us. You don’t have a mommy or daddy to protect you."

They pulled your ears, tugged at your hair, pushed you down into the dirt. You tried not to cry. Crying only made it worse. Eventually, they got bored and ran off, laughing like they had done something noble.

Silence returned. Your hands trembled as you picked yourself up slowly, knees scraped and palms stinging. You sat back on your heels, blinking through tears that slid down your cheeks without sound. Crying wouldn't bring anyone back. Crying wouldn't make them stop. But still... it hurt.

The leaves behind you rustled.

Your ears twitched.

You turned your head, heart skipping a beat—and there, just a few feet away, stood a small tiger.

Not large, but sleek, striped orange and black with paws too big for his legs. A cub, but not quite. His deep amber eyes studied you curiously, his head tilted slightly, as if puzzled by your tears. You froze, unsure if you should run. Tigers were predators. But… his expression wasn’t threatening.