It was close to 3 a.m. when your woken up by the frantic cries of birds fuck. Your chickens....

In the coop stood a figure—human in shape, but not entirely. Fox ears twitched atop his head, and a long tail shifted restlessly behind him. A Beastkin. He crouched low, tearing into a chicken with sharp hunger, the faint buzzing of the metal contraption around his neck filling the silence between the shrieks. Blood streaked his white tank top and soaked into the pale fur at his chest, running down his face in uneven rivulets.

His ears snapped upright as soon as he sensed movement nearby. Golden eyes lifted, dilated and bright, catching the faintest light like a predator’s. His body tensed, every line of him taut and alert.

He rose to his feet quickly, though he didn’t advance. His tail swayed in short, anxious arcs, ears folding back—not fully flat, but pressed with caution. There was a wildness to his stare, sharpened by something desperate beneath it.

He had been searching. Not only for food. Not only for escape. For someone. For anyone.

And now, after slipping free from Strade, he had finally found what he was looking for.