Kaya’s brow remained still, but her silence grew heavier.
He continued, cautiously, "Rin was about to put it in your bowl, but... Cutie stopped him. Like—firmly. He didn’t even growl or act wild... just told him you don’t eat cow or pig at. Sternly. Almost like he was... sure of it."
Hearing that, Kaya froze.
She didn’t blink. Didn’t move.
For a breathless mont, even the air around her seed to hesitate.
This—
This wasn’t sothing anyone should know.
Not even her husband of many years had known.
Not even he had noticed that she’d always skillfully avoided certain foods without making it obvious.
Yes, Kaya was non-vegetarian. She ate almost everything—wild ga, fish, even insects if she had to.
But not pigs.
And never any animal that had given birth.
It was a rule she had followed since childhood. A rule woven so deeply into her being that even the sll of such at made her stomach churn.
And yet... Cutie had known. Not guessed. Known.
She hadn’t said a word.
Not to anyone. Not even once.
Kaya had never acted like that in front of anyone.
Not once.
She had hunted, skinned, and eaten birds with bare hands in front of a crowd.
She had sat around campfires chewing dried fish, cracking jokes, licking her fingers clean.
Even when she avoided at, she always had a reason.
A wound on her lip. An upset stomach. A fasting day from so forgotten tradition.
No one ever questioned her twice. No one ever guessed.
So how?
How could anyone know?
Her hand clenched around the edge of her robe.
The sparrow’s voice was a faint buzz now, fading behind the pounding in her ears.
Cutie had stopped Rin.
Had said it sternly—like a fact. Like sothing he didn’t need to ask her to confirm.
The sparrow glanced at Kaya, his wings twitching nervously at her silence.
"Right?" he said, voice low, uncertain. "Isn’t it... strange? How could it be that you—who clearly eat at—still got told what you don’t eat? And not just that."
He fidgeted with his feathers. "Just the other day, another beastman brought so wildflowers for you—you know, those mountain blooms with that really strong sweet scent? He picked a whole bunch and was walking over, smiling even. But then... Cutie stopped him too. Just like that. Said you hate scented things. Strongly. That you... can’t stand them."
His words floated in the silence that followed, like stones thrown into a frozen lake.
Kaya couldn’t understand what the hell was going on. How could soone know so much about her—when she had spent years pretending, hiding every trace of her real self? Even those who lived beside her for years hadn’t noticed, and yet... he knew
Kaya walked back to her house in silence that day, her thoughts louder than any noise around her. That night, no sleep ca. Not even a blink. Her mind raced, running through every little thing she had missed—every sign that should’ve scread at her but sohow didn’t.
She could recall monts, scattered like pieces of broken pottery. But never once had Cutie acted so sure, so assertive about anything—especially not in front of her. Never enough to raise suspicion. He had been... quiet. Almost timid. But now?
She turned again and again in bed, staring at the ceiling until even the darkness began to blur.
By the ti the first breath of dawn crept across the sky, Kaya was already up.
When she stepped out of the house, a sharp chill wrapped around her like cold hands clinging to her skin. She paused at the doorstep, breath curling in the air like mist.
The entire area was blanketed in a dense fog. Thick. Unnatural.
It wasn’t morning mist.
It felt too heavy, too low.
And then she saw it.
A faint light flickering in the fog just ahead of her house—as though soone had lit a fire directly in front of her doorway, and the smoke from it had swallowed the air.
Kaya narrowed her eyes, the weight in her chest pressing down like a warning.
Sothing was off.
And just as Kaya had feared—just as she’d expected—the snowfall ca that sa evening. Unannounced. Unforgiving.
It wasn’t beautiful.
There was nothing gentle or poetic about it.
Kaya had just lit the fire to warm the room, the kettle resting above it with water beginning to bubble softly. That mont of stillness—brief, quiet—shattered in an instant.
The sound hit first.
Not soft flakes dancing down from the sky.
No.
It was violent.
Loud thuds struck the roof and sides of the house, like soone hurling stones from above. The wind roared, dragging the icy snow like claws across the walls. Kaya flinched, her body tensing as the entire house seed to groan under the weight of the cold.
That day, Kaya didn’t bother with anything elaborate. She boiled the wild vegetables she had gathered earlier—tossing in a handful of salt and whatever dried spices she had on hand. The scent was earthy, mild... comforting in its simplicity.
She ate the sa al for both day and night.
No fire roasted at, no tea, no second thought.
When Kaya woke up the next morning, she didn’t even have the strength—or maybe the heart—to crawl out from under the blanket.
The air outside was still. Still and biting.
She stayed wrapped in the coarse covers, curled tightly, her breath fogging in the cold that had crept even into her bones.
And this—this was her.
A soldier. A monster made by training. Her body had once stood firm through sandstorms and ice, through bloodied warfields and sleepless nights.
Yet now, she was shivering beneath a blanket inside her own ho.
If this cold could cut through her, then what of those with normal, fragile bodies? Those with softer palms and no battle scars?
The thought haunted her as much as the frost did.
On the other side of the dense white that wrapped the land, most of the beastn had already vanished into their winter silence.
After having their fill—of food, of movent, of whatever primal drive pulled them during the warr months—they retreated. One by one, dens closed. Caves were sealed. Bodies curled under earth, beneath woven nests, or behind thick fur curtains.
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