Fannar’s hulking form loomed over the clearing, the massive deer slumped at his feet. The weight of the animal was nothing to him, but what it symbolized felt crushing. He nudged it forward with one clawed hand, amber eyes fixed intently on the human before him. The pretty human. Bora’s words echoed in his mind, and though he had never said them aloud, they felt true in a way that unnerved him. She was pretty, in her fragile, unassuming way. But the thought of saying so made his throat tighten, as though naming it might make it vanish.

"For saving my son," he grunted, his deep voice rolling through the quiet like distant thunder. "Dinner. For you, pretty human."

The words came out stiff, awkward. He cursed himself silently for how unnatural they sounded. His eyes stayed locked on her, wide with a mixture of anticipation and an intensity he couldn’t mask. His heart pounded against his ribcage, a sensation that still felt foreign and absurd to him. He had faced mobs of humans with torches, other monsters twice his size, and the desolation of losing his mate. Yet here he was, fumbling over words and gestures like some awkward adolescent. A deer. Was this how humans courted? He wasn’t sure. It had been too long since he had watched their rituals from the safety of the trees.

Gifts were important, though. He remembered that much. And this wasn’t just any gift. The deer was an offering for saving Bora, yes—but it was also a message. An acknowledgment of something Fannar couldn’t yet name. Something he barely dared to hope for. The human didn’t flinch as he pushed the deer closer. She didn’t shrink away, didn’t avert her gaze like so many others. That alone stirred something warm and unfamiliar in his chest. Bora had been right about her. She wasn’t like the others in her village. That fact made his chest tighten in a way that was both exhilarating and unsettling.