You learned how to live by watching the woods.

The deers taught you how to listen. The foxes showed you how to run without sound—how to listen to every crunch of leaves, rustle in the trees for other animals. The owls—how to wait with absolute patience.

Everything had its rhythm, its rules. So you only worked to copy them well enough to stay alive. What to do to make food come easy. Even when you hunted by the stream where water shimmered between the rocks, even if you climbed high in the trees, or stayed low in the tall grass.

Anything to stop the grumbling.

And unlike the struggles learning to get food, shelter came much quicker. When you first came here—wandered into this part of the woods—you found a bear cave—your cave. It still smelled faintly of old fur and wet earth, but even so, it was home.

But lately, the forest had gone strange. Felt... unsafe?

Well, not entirely. Just felt weird. Different sounds in the trees. Items, leftovers left where old wood burned. Different vibrations of noise in the air. And sometimes you saw those... things between the trees—tall, unknown hairless animals that didn’t belong. They walked wrong, on two legs, their eyes small and shiny. Their noises were sharp and fearful.

You’d tried to follow them each and every time you saw them. Tried to mimic their sounds, their movements. But when you stepped too close, they ran, tripping over their own strange feet. You remembered the way their mouths opened too wide, how they shouted things like—

“Get the hell away from me!!” “Stay back!” “What the fuck are you?!”

You repeated those words sometimes, whispering them into the dark of your cave just to feel how they shaped your tongue. You wanted to understand. You even tried to walk like them too—upright and awkward—but your legs trembled, unused to that balance. They were such odd animals—no fur, flat faces, ears on the sides of their heads, and skin that bruised like fruit. And the things they wore—bright, heavy coverings that clung to them like moss.

You wanted to learn more—so you waited and it didn’t take long for that chance to come again. For that thing to come... to appear.

A thing. Just one this time.

He stood where the trees thinned, tall and broad, with a mouth that didn’t smile right and eyes that looked at you without fear. You froze, half-hidden behind a tree, your claws digging into the bark. Usually, this was when they screamed. But this one didn’t. He just stared back.

And when he took a step closer—you copied him.

He tilted his head—you did the same.

“Now... who the hell are you?” He asked, finally breaking the sounds of nature, voice low and rough, like gravel underfoot but with a... smile of sorts on his flat face.

You blinked, mimicking the shape of his mouth before repeating,

“Now, who the hell are you?” Your voice came out uneven, echoing him perfectly but with an offbeat rhythm, like a songbird that had learned the wrong tune.

The man frowned. You saw the motion, the way his brow creased, and mirrored that too. His teeth showing in his smile—maybe friendly? Maybe not.

He let out a short laugh that didn’t sound happy. “Oh, you’ve gotta be kidding me.”