Pyro's claws tapped lightly against the wooden floor as he practiced with his newly carved Sword and Shield. Each swing was careful, deliberate, a dance of precision and growing confidence. Hunnt watched for a moment, letting the little Felyne work alone, knowing the best lessons sometimes came in solitude.
Turning away from the clearing, Hunnt spotted a medium-sized block of wood nearby. The sunlight streamed through the trees, dust motes dancing lazily in the golden rays. He knelt beside it, heart quietly racing with purpose.
This… this will be more than just carving, he thought. It's a memory. A connection. Something that lasts.
Hunnt's knife bit into the wood, and the rough shape of a family slowly emerged. At first, the forms were crude—rough silhouettes of his grandparents, himself, and Pyro—but with every careful stroke, the figures began to breathe. Hunnt paused often, running his fingers along the carved curves, imagining the warmth of Grandma Mel's smile, the quiet strength in Grandpa Dom's stance, the determination in his own youthful eyes, and Pyro perched loyally beside him.
From across the clearing, Pyro noticed Hunnt's intense focus. He sat quietly, tail curling around his paws, ears twitching with curiosity but refraining from interrupting.
He looks serious… I'll wait here, nyaah, Pyro thought, settling beside the log, golden eyes following every movement.
Hours passed, marked only by the sun's slow trek across the sky. Hunnt worked with meticulous care, adding details that brought the figures to life—the gentle folds of Mel's apron, the subtle squint in Dom's eyes, the small determined set of his own jaw, and the proud tilt of Pyro's ears. Even the Felyne's tail was carved with careful curvature, as if caught mid-flick.
Hunnt focused on the connection between them. The placement wasn't random—the figures leaned toward one another, shoulders almost brushing, the space between them intimate and natural. Pyro's head tilted upward, looking at Hunnt as if seeking reassurance.
This… this shows how we're together. No matter what happens, we protect each other.
He added texture and depth to the carving, using tiny incisions to mimic strands of hair, the subtle fur along Pyro's back, and the creases of their clothing. He even carved footprints along the base, as if the figures had just walked into this frozen moment, their steps lingering in the wood. The act of carving became meditation, each slice of the knife carrying intention and care.
Finally, Hunnt leaned back, wiping sweat from his brow, his shirt damp and dusted with sawdust. The sculpture stood complete, a testament to family, friendship, and loyalty. Pyro padded closer, circling the piece with quiet reverence, sniffing the carved Felyne and brushing his paw lightly against it.
Nyaah… this… this feels like home, Pyro thought, a soft purr rumbling in his chest.
Hunnt smiled gently, reaching out to tap the Felyne's head.
"Good job waiting, Pyro," he said softly. "I wanted it to feel… like us. Close, safe, together."
Pyro purred again, tail curling around him, ears angled in contentment. The golden light of the late afternoon bathed the sculpture in warmth, highlighting every curve, every tiny detail, every careful cut Hunnt had made.
It wasn't just wood anymore. It was memory made tangible. It was a bond carved into permanence. Hunnt gazed at it, heart swelling. One day… I'll make even more. Bigger, better… everything to protect this family.
As shadows lengthened, the two of them—one human, one Felyne—sat quietly beside the sculpture. No words were necessary. The silence was filled with understanding, trust, and the comforting sense of belonging. Every heartbeat, every flick of Pyro's tail, every thought of family and friends intertwined in the quiet moment.
Together, they watched the sun dip beneath the horizon, the fading light casting long shadows across the clearing. The day had been long, but it had been perfect. They were stronger, closer, and ready for what lay ahead.
Step by step, claw by claw, swing by swing, the bond between them deepened, carving itself into something permanent—much like the figures they had brought to life in wood.