Unmoved, he coiled around the egg, muscles convulsing as he swallowed it whole. Then, with a violent snap of his tail, he broke the bear's neck, the sound echoing like a crack in the sky.
"I… I can't eat that," she whispered. "I can't swallow like you."
His shock chilled the air. Females of his kind were meant to eat this way. Yet instead of striking, he dropped a small bundle at her feet. Inside lay a single, fist-sized fruit, its skin a dull gray.
She bit into it hesitantly. Sourness flooded her mouth, then softened into sweetness, a taste of gratitude and fragile hope. "Thank you," she murmured.
Yves' tail lashed again, but this time not in anger. He tore the carcass into smaller pieces, arranging them with surprising care.
"Here," he said simply.
Rami stared at the raw meat, her lips trembling. "Raw…" Her voice was thin as paper. "C-can I eat it after it's washed?"
He tilted his head, baffled. Yet without a word, he vanished into the shadows. When he returned, the meat was bundled in a fresh pelt, faintly steamed, carrying a scent she could almost bear.
She ate slowly, and he watched, his curiosity sharpening with every bite.
"You… not eat like female," he said at last. The words no longer carried judgment. They were simply truth, spoken with wonder.
The meat sat heavy in her stomach, warmth spreading outward in slow ripples. It was not the food she had known before, but it quieted the ache that had hollowed her body. Her lips still carried the faint metallic tang, and she pressed her hand against her mouth as if to hold the taste inside, afraid it might vanish and leave her empty again.
Yves watched her without blinking. His coils shifted against the moss, the faint rasp of scale on stone like a whisper meant only for the earth. His stillness was not absence but weight, as though the forest itself leaned through him to see her more clearly.
When she faltered, lowering her gaze, he moved. The long body uncoiled, sliding forward with a grace that unsettled her bones. He circled once, brushing past her shoulder, the cool scales grazing her skin. It was not affection, nor threat, but something older—an instinctive claiming of space.
She rose to follow.
The forest deepened, its canopy thick with vines that dripped like wet ropes.
The air grew warmer, heavy with the musk of damp soil and the faint sweetness of rotting fruit. Strange birds wheeled overhead, their cries sharp as knives. She stumbled often, but each time she slowed, Yves' tail brushed against her calf, urging her forward.