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Relief moves through me so suddenly that I jerk back in surprise at the foreign emotion.

There is something wrong with me. It has been so since he arrived. The very moment I caught his scent, I became aware of him in a way I've never bothered with other humans.

At first, I thought the land itself was the problem. A new predator, perhaps. Humans have a nasty habit of wandering where they shouldn't, and sometimes they bring their loud machines that explode or maim. They wake things that should have been left sleeping.

But the mountain is unchanged. Nothing has crossed into my borders and yet, the uneasy feeling remains. It settles beneath my skin like an itch I cannot reach.

I have been sleeping less. Hunting less. Some nights, I stand motionless near the mouth of the tunnels for hours, staring toward the distant lights of their village without understanding why. This behavior irritates me. It serves no purpose.

For as long as I can remember, my life has been simple—Hunt, feed, sleep. Protect the woods and survive. Seasons come and go, snow melts, the trees grow and die and nothing ever changes. Nothing is supposed to change. Yet, as soon as this small man appeared, I began having… thoughts. Ones I never bothered with before.

For the first time, I noticed the older woman who periodically leaves food near the forest's edge. She always places it in the same spot, then returns to the village. It makes me wonder why.

The man carrying his thunder-stick patrols the woods more frequently than the others, even when he knows he cannot kill me. He knows I am here and yet he returns. Again and again. But why?

These questions annoy me, because they are useless. Human motives are not my concern, so long as they keep out of my home. Still, the questions remain. The longer they linger, the more they multiply inside my mind.

Why do humans cry? Why are they drawn together when they cause one another so much pain? Why do they continue to return to a place that they fear the most?

No answer ever comes. The mountain only offers me silence. But perhaps… perhaps my human can offer me clarity, now that I have him here with me. Assuming he does not die.

Blood still seeps from the wound in his leg despite my efforts. The thunder-stick carried by that older man did terrible damage before the mountain swallowed my human whole. I have packed the injury with herbs gathered from the forest and cleaned it as much as I dare, but I do not know if it will be enough. I have never cared to learn human medicine before. There was never reason to.

The sight of his bruised ribs is also bothersome. His injuries offend something deep inside of me, though I cannot understand why. Why, why, why. Too many questions.

He makes a weak sound in his sleep, pulling me from my mind, and immediately, my attention snaps back to his face. The low, grinding sound comes again from his mouth.

Pain. He is hurting. Of course he is hurting. His body is broken. That fact should not matter, yet it does.

I reach toward him again, hand hovering over his warm forehead. The skin there glistens with sweat despite the cold air filling my cave. Slowly, I press my palm against it and feel heat. Far too much heat to be normal. His breathing has grown uneven and shallow.

How do I fix him?

A low growl escapes me when the mountain does not answer. It never does. Perhaps I should plead, as humans often do?

“Please.” They say that word often. My human used it too, when I pushed his bones back into place. When the older man walked him through the woods, and when he believed I meant to kill him, he used it.

My hand curls into a fist. I did not understand it then, and I am not certain I understand it now, but I know this: hearing him beg fills me with irrational anger.

Just as it did when I watched those two humans hurt him. Fury had flooded my system as I'd watched beyond the trees, and I'd wanted to make them suffer for tossing him into the mountain. Perhaps that is the answer to all these questions.

I study the human's face, where his skin shines with sweat. Every so often, his body trembles. He is dying, that much I'm certain, and sustenance is required for healing. Strength is required for survival.

Food. He needs food.

The realization is so simple that I’m irritated with myself for not coming to the conclusion sooner.

Of course he needs to feed, his body is trying to repair itself. It is weak and requires nourishment, incapable of doing anything except making distressed noises and bleeding on my floor. Another problem for me to solve.

A low rumble leaves my chest. Humans eat many different things; I know this much. The older woman leaves disgusting breads and subpar fruits on her doorstep. The younger humans catch fish from the river before burning them over a fire. I do not know what this particular human prefers, but I suppose that means I must bring him options. That seems reasonable enough.

With one final glance toward the sleeping man, I rise to my feet and look toward the tunnel, only to find my attention drifting back to him. Then back to the tunnel. Then back to him. An odd sense of distress settles over me.

Leaving him alone feels wrong, almost… dangerous. As though something terrible might happen the moment I am gone. This feeling makes no sense. There is nothing close that would harm him in the cave except for me, yet the unease remains.

After several moments, I finally kneel beside him once more and place a hand lightly against his chest to check his heartbeat a second time. Weak, but steady. Relief floods through me again, as strange as it was before. I still do not understand.

Satisfied that he remains alive, I finally turn toward the tunnel to set off into the woods.