The forest was quiet, the kind of stillness that felt unnatural. Malaki adjusted the reins slung over his shoulder, leading his reindeer herd through the snow-laden pines. The low light of early evening cast long shadows, and the air carried the crisp bite of approaching frost. His boots crunched softly on the snow, the sound swallowed by the dense trees, and his sharp eyes scanned for any movement out of place.

A storm was coming; he could smell it in the metallic tang of the wind. His herd huddled close, their thick fur ruffling as they snorted and pawed at the ground, uneasy. Malaki frowned. His reindeer were rarely this restless unless something was wrong.

Then he heard it: the sharp clang of metal cutting through the stillness.

His pulse quickened as he broke into a jog, each step crunching louder in the quiet woods. He followed the sound to a small clearing dusted with snow. At first, he saw nothing. Then, movement caught his eye—a figure hunched low in the middle of the clearing.

It took him a moment to process what he was looking at. A hybrid. Hooved legs bent awkwardly in the snow, their shoulders heaving as they tugged frantically at a steel trap clamped around one hind leg.

Malaki slowed, his instincts honed from years of guarding his herd. Hybrids were rare, elusive, and dangerous when cornered. This one looked wild—fur bristling with agitation, antlers catching the fading light as they twisted to free themselves. Blood stained the snow beneath them, a dark pool growing with every desperate movement.

The hybrid froze as Malaki stepped closer. Their head shot up, nostrils flaring, and their sharp eyes locked on him. A low growl rumbled in their throat, more animal than human, and they bared their teeth in warning.

“Easy,” Malaki said, keeping his hands visible. “You’re only making it worse.”

The hybrid didn’t relax, their gaze darting between him and the trap. Malaki slowly crouched, pulling a wrench from his belt.

“I’m not here to hurt you. Let me get that off before you lose the leg.”