Marcus stood in the cold, his bare skin goose-prickled under the trees.
Eshara turned away without another word, her coat brushing the ferns as she moved deeper into the forest.
He swallowed, heart thudding, and took one step forward.
Then another.
The branches closed around them like ribs.
They walked for hours.
Marcus's feet bruised on stones and old pine needles.
Every time he thought about turning back, he would look up and see Eshara moving ahead of him, her silhouette calm and deliberate.
Something in her steady pace kept him going.
By nightfall, his legs trembled.
When she finally stopped, he sank to the ground with a ragged exhale.
Eshara turned, her eyes black in the moonlight.
"You're doing well," she said simply.
Marcus wiped sweat from his forehead.
"Why…" he panted, "why didn't you leave your clothes behind?"
Her gaze didn't waver.
"Because I don't need to," she replied.
She knelt and began to clear a patch of ground for a fire.
"It is your first journey," she continued. "You had to leave your clothes."
He opened his mouth to argue, but the exhaustion swallowed the thought.
Instead, he closed his eyes and let the sounds of the forest press around him—crickets, distant water, the slow crackle of Eshara's breath.
Morning came gray and cold.
Marcus woke to Eshara standing over him, her coat drawn close against her shoulders.
"Up," she said.
He forced himself onto shaky legs.
They walked all day.
"Why... am I still here following her..."
"This ... is more interesting than a boring routine. I have to admit."
By afternoon, Marcus's stomach growled so loudly he was sure she could hear it.
He tried not to stare at her back—at the way she moved through the trees as if they parted just for her.
He tried not to think about the fact that he was naked, and she wasn't.
But when the cold wind gusted against his skin, shame prickled at the back of his neck.
Midday on the third day, they crossed a shallow ravine and climbed up into a stand of old pines.
Marcus was so tired he didn't see the animal at first.
Then Eshara lifted her hand, and he stopped dead.
A lean, pale-furred creature stood twenty paces ahead, sniffing at the air. Its ribs moved in shallow breaths.
Eshara looked over her shoulder.
"Step forward," she said quietly.
Marcus's mouth went dry.
"What?"
"Practice," she said.
He hesitated, then took one step.
The creature's head snapped up, golden eyes fixing on him.
Marcus felt something cold slide down his spine.
Eshara's voice came again, steady:
"Don't look away."
His pulse thundered in his ears.
He held the animal's gaze until his eyes watered.
Then the creature's lip curled back, teeth bared.
Eshara moved before Marcus could react—one smooth motion forward.
Her hand lifted, fingers lengthening into claws.
A single low growl rumbled from her chest.
The creature turned and bolted into the trees.
Eshara watched it disappear, then bent to pick up a small carcass it had left behind—a half-eaten rabbit.
She glanced back at Marcus.
"Still weak," she said evenly.
He flushed.
"I'm trying."
"I know."
She crouched and began arranging kindling.
"You will get accustomed," she continued.
Her claws made short work of the sticks.
"But until then—"
She struck a spark with a piece of flint.
"I will help you."
The fire crackled to life.
Eshara stripped the rabbit with a precision that made Marcus's stomach turn.
He turned away, nausea curling in his chest.
When the meat was finally cooking over the flames, he forced himself to look back.
Eshara sat cross-legged on the far side of the fire.
Her eyes were half-lidded, the shadows dancing over her sharp features.
Despite everything—the blood on her hands, the claws she hadn't fully retracted—he felt that same involuntary pull in his chest.
Beautiful.
Not in a way he could explain.
Just—**undeniable.**
Her gaze shifted, meeting his across the fire.
He started to look away, but her voice slid into his thoughts without passing her lips:
"It is natural to recognize what is beautiful, Marcus. Even when it is something you were taught to fear."**
His throat closed around the reply.
He swallowed and looked into the flames, the heat kissing his raw skin.
Somewhere under it all, he felt a new kind of clarity—like a door had cracked open behind his ribs.
"Why does it feel like I'm forgetting something..." Marcus thought for a second but then just proceeded to shrug aloof.