The first slivers of dawn crept into the hollow, faint light spilling through cracks in the bark. Nyara stayed curled against the wood, her knees pulled tight to her chest, every muscle aching from being still too long. She tried to focus on the sharp, bitter stink of the crushed leaves her mother had rubbed into her fur, but another scent began to drift in, cutting through everything else.
Blood.
Not prey. Not the dry, cold tang of old kills. This was warm and heavy, the scent of her own kind. Her father's kind.
Her chest clenched, and before she could swallow it back, a thin, trembling whine escaped her throat — high and pitiful, the sound of a cub calling for what would never come. She bit down on it too late, ears flattening in shame.
Then came the footsteps — not just one set, but many. Heavy pads and lighter paws mixed with the uneven tread of boots. Voices followed, low and wary.
"...that's not a feral," a deep male voice said, close enough now that she caught the wolf-scent beneath his words. "Too small. And... stars above — is that... a cub?"
Another voice answered in disbelief, "A female cub, alone?" There was a ripple of murmurs behind him, the surprise carrying through the group.
A shadow fell over the hollow's entrance. A tall figure crouched, golden eyes peering in. Behind him, she could smell fox, lynx, and bear — a mix of many kinds, the shifting scents marking them as travelers.
"She's frightened," the wolf murmured, his voice quieter now. "Everyone, hold back."
From behind his broad shoulder stepped a smaller figure — a boy, not yet grown, with tawny hair and faint stripes along his cheeks. His eyes were wide, not just with curiosity but with the shock of seeing her. He stayed well back, his posture careful, hands loose at his sides.
Nyara pressed herself harder into the hollow, her claws biting into the wood. The blood scent was still in the air, mixing with the strangers' smells until she wanted to bolt. Her tail curled tight around her legs.
The boy tilted his head slightly, speaking in a voice softer than the wolf's, "We're with a caravan. It's safe here. You... don't need to be afraid."
She didn't believe him. The forest still whispered danger in every breath of wind, and the tang of blood told her it could follow. Another murmur ran through the adults, disbelief still thick in their scents — a lone female cub was not something they found wandering the wilds.
When Nyara didn't move, the boy glanced back for silent approval. The wolf gave a slow nod. The boy lowered himself to a crouch — not coming closer, just sinking to her level.
"No one will harm you," he said gently, as if speaking to a cornered animal.
Nyara's ears twitched. She hesitated for long, tense heartbeats before sliding forward, one step, then another, never taking her eyes off the strangers. The boy's gaze followed her every movement, careful, measured. Behind him, the caravan stood in still surprise, watching the rarest thing they'd ever seen walk into their midst.
And then, the pressure in her chest broke. She gave a sharp, shaking sniff and a single tear slid down her cheek, followed by another. The caravan stayed silent, the air thick with the scent of her fear and sorrow.