The fire crackled down to embers, their bellies full from the simple roasted meat. Obsessio stretched, cracking his neck. "Stuffed?" he asked, wiping grease from his chin with the back of his hand.
Amor patted his own stomach, a contented sigh escaping him. "So full. First time eating meat like that... actually kinda tasty." He gave a small, surprised smile. "Way better than I imagined."
Obsessio chuckled, then gestured towards Amor. "Need a lift? My back's free." He offered casually.
Amor's eyes flickered to the network of fresh scrapes and fading bruises visible on Obsessio's arms and shoulders. "No way," he protested, genuine concern in his voice. "You're all scraped up! I can't let you carry me again."
Obsessio just grinned, flexing a bicep playfully. "These?" He pointed at the marks. "Battle scars, little Omega. Totally normal for an Alpha like me. Get nicked up like this practically every day hauling wood, hunting, wrestling rogue boars..." He puffed out his chest slightly, clearly proud. "Doesn't even sting anymore. Part of the gig."
Amor stared, wide-eyed. "Every day...? That's...ridiculous" His voice trailed off, a pang of sadness hitting him.
This was reality? Getting hurt daily? It was worlds away from the sterile, protected misery of his old life, where my Alpha brothers lounged in luxury, unproductive and cruel, their only exertion being the energy they spent bullying me.
"Anyway," Obsessio interrupted, turning and pointing through the trees. "We're here. Home sweet... well, home." He gestured towards a sturdy structure nestled against the base of a rocky cliff face. It was built from weathered logs and cleverly integrated large, smooth stones likely hauled from the nearby cave across the small clearing. Smoke curled invitingly from a stone chimney. It looked rugged, lived-in, and utterly unlike the cold marble halls Amor had fled.
Amor blinked at the rustic structure. "It's... really simple," he observed, surprise evident in his voice.
Obsessio beamed, puffing out his chest. "Yeah, kinda basic. But totally comfy for me," he declared with unmistakable pride.
"Okay... Sio?" Amor offered tentatively.
Obsessio's eyes lit up. "Sio? Huh, I like it! Sounds cool. What about you... Ah, dang, your name's already one word. Mor? Amo?" He wrinkled his nose. "Eh, those sound kinda lame."
"Call me Ve," Amor suggested softly. "Short for Venter."
"Venter?" Obsessio tilted his head, genuinely puzzled. "Where'd that come from? Not in your name. Nickname?"
"Venter's what my maid called me," Amor explained, a faint blush dusting his cheeks. "Because my belly gets really sensitive... and warm. Like, really warm when heat"
"Warm?heat? " Obsessio echoed, still looking confused.
"Yeah," Amor nodded, his voice dropping a little. "I don't totally get it myself, but... once a month, this whole weird heat thing happens? My body just... overheats." He shrugged, avoiding Obsessio's gaze. "That's why the Alphas back home were totally off-limits to me during that time. Couldn't let them touch me"
"Anyways..... yeah. Call me Venter." he continued
Obsessio rubbed the back of his neck. "Ah, gotcha. Sorry, I'm kinda clueless about Omega stuff. You're literally the first one I've met. Nana only ever taught me the Alpha basics." He offered an apologetic half-smile.
"No worries!" Amor replied quickly, a small, genuine smile returning. "Heh."
"Alright then... Ve," Obsessio said, testing the name. A grin spread across his face.
"Okay, Sio," Amor answered, smiling back. They shared an easy smile for a moment before turning together and walking towards the cozy wooden structure – Ve's new, uncertain sanctuary, and Sio's proudly simple home.
—
"Hey... Nana?" Amor called out, dripping rainwater as he stepped inside.
"Ahhh! My baby!" The elderly Omega lit up, pulling him into a hug. "Two days gone! Missed your happily face, kiddo.
"Ehh..." Amor froze. Shit. He really not came home?2 days?
Obsessio shook water from his hair like a drenched wolf. "Btw, who's the kid, Gran? That scent's pure Omega."
"H-hi, sorry to interrupted." Amor bowed, scent spiking with nerves. "I'm Amor. An Omega. I'm runni—ahem—lost. No way home. Mind if I crash here?" He flashed puppy-dog eyes.
"Pleeeease, Nana?" Obsessio elbowed her playfully. "He can cooks too! ...Allegedly." Pfft.
"...Sio." His tone warned.
*Sio? Cute.* (Gran's mental note)
"Fine. But during his heat, you isolate for 24 hours. Got it? This old Omega knows the rules."
"Yes, Nana... Wait." Obsessio frowned. "You don't go into heat anymore? Never seen it."
"Ain't got cycles left in these bones." She swatted his arm. "Now shoo—you reek of wet wolf and forest funk. Shower. Then sleep. Exhaustion's practically your scent-marker tonight."
"Yes, Nana!" they chimed, already racing for the bathroom, their laughter mingling with the scent of rain and lingering forest musk.
—
By the time the weak morning light filtered through the small window, the savory steam of cooking already filled the cozy cottage. Obsessio's grandmother, a spry woman whose seventy-five years sat lightly on her broad shoulders, moved with surprising agility around the hearth. She was preparing her grandson's favorite: Puls.
This thick wheat porridge, akin to an ancient polenta, was the bedrock of sustenance for those living humbly on the forest's edge. She stirred the coarse grains in a heavy pot, adding water drawn fresh from the nearby spring. Sometimes, if fortune favored them, she might enrich it with goat's milk or toss in foraged greens or scraps of dried meat. Today, simplicity reigned. The hearty, nutty aroma promised warmth and filling comfort.
Once the Puls reached its perfect, thick consistency, the grandmother carefully ladled generous portions into two simple clay bowls. She placed them steaming on the worn wooden table, ready for the boys whenever they roused from sleep. Her work wasn't done, however. The larder needed restocking.
Without hesitation, she grabbed a woven basket and a sturdy walking stick. Though the cool morning air held a bite, she barely seemed to notice. This woman, weathered by decades of forest life, possessed a vitality that belied her age – strong and resilient as someone half her years, a testament to her robust health and the demanding rhythms of survival. She slipped out the door, her destination the deeper woods: to gather wild herbs, edible roots, and perhaps track the small herd of wild goats that roamed the territory, hoping for the precious gift of fresh milk. The wilderness held no fear for her; it was her lifelong provider.