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Spinning around, the creature prowls over to the spring to wash its hands. I watch as it grabs some herbs hanging on the wall and snatches a handful of moss before returning to me.

“What are you doing?” I ask, pushing myself up on one elbow.

It doesn't answer, instead kneeling beside me and crushing the herbs between its palms. The sharp, bitter scent r fills the air as green juices seep between its claws. When the leaves are reduced to a thick paste, it folds the moss into the mixture with surprising care, then offers me the poultice.

I frown down at the offering. “You think that's going to fix my sadness?”

“You hurt,” it answers with furrowed brows.

“Yeah.”

“Fix.”

It nudges the herbs closer, and I snort at the almost… adorable gesture. “Herbs can't cure emotional pain. That's different.”

The creature goes still, golden eyes locked on mine. “... emotional.”

It speaks the word slowly, like the letters are foreign on its tongue.

“You can fix a broken bone or a cut. An infection. But…” I tap my chest, where my heart rests. “Some things hurt in here.”

The creature tilts its head and furrows its brow, studying my chest as if the injury might suddenly reveal itself.

“Inside pain?”

With a nod, I tap my temple. “Yeah. Here, too.”

“Why?”

Blowing out a puff of air, I take the poultice from its claws, careful not to touch them. “Memories. Guilt, sometimes. Regret. When… When someone you love dies, your body keeps going, but its like a part of you dies too.”

All I get is a slow blink in response, like those words mean nothing to it. I can tell from the blank look on its face when it turns back toward the moose that it doesn't understand, which has anger rippling through me.

“Why am I even trying?” I mutter, pressing the herbs to my wound. “Fucking monsters don't know what love is.”

There’s no response other than the crackle of wood and a gentle trickle of water.

At first, I don't bother looking up, focused on getting the poultice to sit right over my wound. But when several long minutes pass without another sound, I finally glance over and find the creature frozen in place, watching me. The bone knife hangs forgotten at its side while those strange golden eyes remain fixed on the fire. Its broad shoulders are rigid beneath the dark.

Slowly, it rotates to face me again, and the expression waiting there catches me off guard. Its brows are drawn tight, lips pressed into a hard line. “You call me a monster.”

I swallow hard. “Because you are.”

The emotion that flickers across its face happens too fast for me to catch. A low rumble rolls through its chest. “No.”

“Uh… no?”

“Not a monster.”

I let out a cruel, disbelieving laugh. “You've eaten people.”

“Yes.”

“You live in a cave, and you have horns.”

Another nod.

“Okay,” I say slowly, spreading my palms wide. “If it walks like a duck and quacks like a duck…”