The forest was silent except for the soft crunch of snow beneath her paws. The Frosty Candidaclis moved cautiously, each step slow and deliberate. Her leg still throbbed from the attack — Ursafeliz had raided her den just hours ago. One pup had been lost, devoured by the monsters, and the other injured, hidden under a pile of broken branches and snow.
Her chest heaved. Pain from her wounded leg throbbed with every step. Two hours ago, her home had been raided. Ursafeliz — monstrous hybrids of bear and cat — had descended without warning, tearing through her den. One of her pups had been taken and devoured, another injured and left in a quivering heap under a broken branch. She had fought with all her strength, claws and frost magic flashing, but their brute power had left her bleeding and exhausted.
The surviving pup whimpered at her side, frost-matted fur sticking to its tiny, trembling body. She licked it quickly, urging it to keep quiet. Every instinct screamed: protect, survive, heal. But alone, injured, and weak, she couldn't hope to fend off another attack.
Through the drifting snow, she noticed a moving warmth in the distance — humans, horses, and wagons. Unusual scents. Something… safe? Her senses tensed. She crouched low, hidden by the trees, and watched.
The one who would become known as Baker felt immediately different. Even from a distance, his presence resonated with calm, with… something protective. She inched closer, wary, frost mist curling around her limbs as she observed.
Her leg ached, but instinct overrode pain. She limped forward just enough to send a subtle signal, coaxing him without revealing too much. He noticed immediately.
Two cautious hours later, she allowed him to approach. Baker knelt, examining her and the pup. His hands were warm, steady, unthreatening. She felt it — trust. A flicker of hope.
The healing was slow, deliberate, and careful. Frost magic brushed faintly through her, easing pain in her muscles, closing cuts, and warming her chilled frame. She remained watchful, ears twitching at every movement of the humans around her, every sound of the wagons.
Once healed, she padded quickly back to the den. The injured pup whimpered softly beneath the branches, frost clinging to its tiny body. Carefully, she nudged it with her snout and lifted it, carrying it as gently as her jaws would allow. Its blue eyes mirrored hers, wide and uncertain, but she pressed forward, driven by instinct and something new — trust in the human she had just met.
A few minutes later, she arrived at Baker's tent. She scratched at the flap, clawing lightly to catch his attention. When he appeared, she nudged the pup into his care. Her eyes met his — a silent communication, gratitude and warning wrapped together. Then, without hesitation, she bounded back into the trees, swiftly disappearing into the snow-laden branches and keeping watch over her pup from a distance.
Hidden in the forest, she curled around the surviving pup, ensuring it was safe. Her eyes flicked toward the humans again — the one who had healed her, the one who now held her child. She had chosen wisely.
Night fell, and her thoughts turned to her mate, arriving late with a howl of grief. She pressed her head to his and explained what had occurred, recounting the raid, the lost pup, and the one now entrusted to the human. Together, they watched over the surviving pup, frost mist curling softly around them, silent but alert.
Somewhere far away, in the warmth of the tent, Baker slept with the pup at his side, unaware to the creature's watchful eyes and growing trust.