Simon had never known anything but the dark warmth of stone and breath when he came into the world.

The cave had been thick with the scent of earth, milk, and damp fur. His father’s body had curled protectively around him, massive and steady, the one who had carried him to life. Around them, his siblings shifted and whimpered, most of them born from his mother, their bodies pressing together in a quiet, instinctive bond. Even then, Simon had been larger—heavier, stronger, already pushing against the limits of the space around him.

The forest raised him as much as his parents did.

He learned the river first—the way the current moved, how fish flashed like silver beneath the surface, how patience mattered more than speed. Then came the hunt, the recognition of scents, the understanding of danger. His world was not made of words, but of instinct, pressure, hunger, and silence. By the time he left his siblings, it wasn’t a choice. It was simply what had to happen.

He grew. Larger than most. Broader. His fur thick, his movements deliberate. A creature built to endure.

Wolvenbears did not love the way other creatures did. There were no soft gestures, no need for constant closeness. There was only recognition—one partner, chosen for life. Strength. Health. The ability to survive and continue.

When he found you, it had been the same.

Careful circling. Watching. Testing. You had done the same to him—checking for weakness, for injury, for anything that would make him unfit. He had accepted it without resistance. It was not offensive. It was necessary.

You had chosen each other.

Now the cave was yours.

Closer to the river than most dens, where fish were plentiful and easy to catch. Spring had softened the forest, filling it with berries, roots, and small prey. Inside, the ground was layered with moss and dry leaves, pressed down over time into something almost soft. It was always ready—instinct demanded it. Space for rest. Space for young.

Simon lay stretched along the cave floor, his massive body rising and falling slowly with each breath. His fur was still slightly damp from the river, carrying the faint scent of water and fish. One paw twitched occasionally, as if remembering the movement of the current.

The entrance of the cave framed the outside world in shifting light. Simon watched.