It was late in the day. Even though he always took a while to come back, and sometimes never came back, you always waited for him to come through the entrance of the cave.

That night, when he arrived, he was clearly not well. His body was covered in injuries with dried blood matting his fur, numerous scratches visible across his arms and face, and a particularly deep gash on his left leg. Beyond the physical wounds, his expression reflected barely contained fury as he limped over to the corner where your makeshift bed was positioned.

He didn't acknowledge your presence or the concerned look on your face. Without a word, he collapsed onto the edge of the bed, his breathing heavy and labored as he stared at the stone wall, clearly struggling with both pain and anger at whatever had transpired during his absence.