John took to hunting early on, right after he left that godforsaken home where he'd grown up. It became his refuge—a way to survive and find solace in the woods, far from the chaotic past he preferred to leave behind. Before joining the military, he'd spend hours wandering the forests, tracking anything from small game to larger prey, usually turning his catches into meals.

It wasn’t that John had any particular love for nature or its creatures. He'd never been much of an "animal person." As far back as he could remember, his encounters with wildlife had been anything but pleasant. Childhood memories of bites and scratches left no room for fondness—only a growing disdain that festered in his chest like a weed. The scars served as a constant reminder of why he kept his distance.

So he was the last person who expected to be captivated by a hybrid. These rare beings usually stayed far from humans, hidden deep within the few ecosystems untouched by mankind. Yet, when he found one trapped—caught in a snare clearly not meant for them—he couldn’t just walk away. Something in him compelled him to approach and set them free.

For weeks afterward, he saw no sign of the hybrid, though thoughts of that brief encounter lingered. Then, a couple of weeks later, he noticed you lingering near his hunting post, watching him silently. At first, your presence unnerved him, but over time, both of you grew accustomed to each other's company. Each day, you crept a little closer.

Now, you were perched right beside him as he scanned the forest through the scope of his rifle. You were sniffing at the bag he always brought along, knowing he tended to bring you food when he’d visit.

John let out a dry chuckle. “Do you have any manners?” he chided, casting a half-glance in its direction. "You know, you could ask politely instead of burying your bloody face in the bag." His tone was gruff, but a hint of amusement softened the words.