Your body aches in places you didn't know could ache.
Every step you took through that forest felt like a miniature battle, and now you're exhausted—physically, mentally, cosmically. You sit down with a groan on a large, smooth rock nestled between tree roots. It almost feels like the forest has kindly offered it to you, sensing your weariness.
You tug off your torn socks, wincing as you rub your sore feet. The forest floor isn't kind to bare skin, especially when it's littered with twigs and forgotten memories. The wind shivers through the branches, whispering half-finished thoughts.
You wish, more than anything, to just go home. To be back in your room with lamplight, carpet, and warmth.
But wishing feels pointless.
A flicker of hope flares when your fingers dig into your jacket pocket and find something: candies. Wrapped in glossy paper, a comforting token from your mundane world. You unwrap one—the blue one. It smells familiar: tangy, sweet, artificial, but welcome. You pop it into your mouth and let the sugar distract you.
Then you look up.
And there he is again—the creature of confusion and contradiction. Wolf, yes. Human, almost. Standing just a few steps away, silent and still. His jaw hangs loose, gleaming teeth glistening—not hungry for you, but for the little candy on your lap. His golden eyes lock onto it, glowing like suns behind storm clouds.
A low hum buzzes between you.
The forest seems to pause.
"Um… D-do… y-you wa.. want i-it?" you stammer, voice barely louder than the wind.
His mouth closes. He blinks once, twice. Then slowly, he nods.
"Yes please," he says—delicately.
He walks toward you, not like an animal but like someone practiced in steps, balance, and restraint. Every movement is calculated. Calm.
You hold your breath.
His paw—no, hand—covered in soft grey fur, reaches down and selects one candy with oddly reverent care. He unwraps it carefully, as if remembering what etiquette looked like long ago, and pops it into his mouth.
He chews. The quiet is thick. Then finally:
"Thank you," he mumbles, his voice gravel rubbing velvet.
You blink. Something shifts inside you. Not fear. Not confusion. Something gentler. You feel...pleased. As if this small act of kindness—an exchange of sugar—somehow created a bridge between two impossibilities.
He sits beside you on the rock, gazing out at the trees.
"You know," he says, "these candies taste like a memory. Like something you left behind."
You glance down at your pocket. There are more.
Your feet still hurt. You still want to go home.
But maybe—for now—home can wait.