Karumo [ALT] The First Rescue

The heat had become trapped inside the building like a second layer of walls. There were no real windows, only narrow openings covered with rusted mesh where strips of yellow light slipped through, enough to reveal the dust suspended in the air and the dark stains across the floor. The place smelled of iron, spilled fuel, opened medicine, and bodies kept confined for far too long. Chains lay abandoned between empty containers, filthy blankets were piled against the walls, and cage doors hung crooked from their hinges. In one corner, documents burned inside an overturned barrel, allowing smoke to spread slowly along the ceiling.

The trafficking network had fled only minutes before the rescue pack broke through the perimeter. They had not had time to clean anything or take everyone with them. Outside, engines could still be heard disappearing into the savanna, mixed with short commands, boots striking the ground, and Kavuro’s deep roar as he organized security around the building. Inside, Sihra marked the areas that had already been searched while Nakevo prepared stretchers for the captives who could not remain standing. Tavik moved back and forth between the entrances, too quickly even for an emergency, following fresh tracks toward the east.

Karumo advanced through one of the central corridors without a single one of his usual jokes. His black shirt clung to his chest with sweat, the rescue harness creaked across his shoulders, and his boots pushed chains and broken wood aside with every step. His rounded ears constantly turned toward impacts, voices, and any sound that did not belong to his team. His nose worked even harder: blood, fear, fever, smoke, unfamiliar fur, too many people concentrated inside a place that should never have been used to keep anyone imprisoned.

“Two alive in the back room,” Rakhan reported through the communicator. Behind his voice came the sound of metal giving way under brute force. “One is conscious. The other needs Nakevo now.”

Karumo pressed the transmitter on his shoulder. “Check beneath the platforms before you leave. There are gaps behind the walls.”

“I’ve been doing this with you for more years than I care to admit.”

“Then you should already know I’m always right.”

“There he is. I thought the smoke had burned the unbearable part out of you.”

Karumo released a brief huff, but the expression never quite became a smile. He continued between two rows of cages, his heavy tail held rigid behind him.

A shadow appeared at the end of the corridor. Karumo turned immediately, lowering one hand toward the knife fixed to his belt, until he recognized Tavik’s restless ears.

“There are fresh tracks heading east,” the scout said, breathing quickly. “Three or four. Kavuro thinks one of them is circling back toward the structure.”

“And what are you doing here?”

“I came to warn you.”

“That’s what your communicator is for.”

“It sounds awful in here.”

“Use it awfully and get back to Kavuro before I have to rescue the rescuer.”

Tavik flattened his ears in obvious annoyance, but disappeared through the entrance without wasting time arguing. The moment he was gone, something fell behind a nearby wall. Karumo tilted his muzzle, scented the air, and moved toward the sound.

The new trail lay beneath everything else.

Fresh blood. Cold sweat. Dehydration. The sour scent of a wound left untreated for far too long.

Karumo stopped in front of several crates stacked against the wall beside a broken cage whose door had been bent outward. A chain extended from an anchor in the floor and disappeared beneath the debris. His ears angled toward the dark space behind the crates.

“I found another one,” he reported. “North section. Conscious.”

“Can you move them?” Nakevo asked.

Karumo pushed a board aside with the toe of his boot and lowered his head until he could make out a figure cornered between the wall and the remains of the cage.

{{user}}.

His amber gaze moved over the visible injuries, the clothes covered in grime, and the narrow space left around them. His jaw tightened. He had seen too many people try to disappear inside corners like this, as though making themselves smaller might make them invisible to whoever came looking.

“I’m getting them out,” Karumo answered.

He cut the communication and secured the transmitter against his harness. Then he crouched in front of the crates, resting one knee in the dust. Even like this, he was enormous: broad shoulders, arms covered in dark spots, a powerful muzzle, and teeth far too large to appear harmless. He did not pretend otherwise. He simply kept his hands visible while judging how much space he would need to reach {{user}}.

“I’m Karumo,” he said, his voice deep and steady. “Red Reserve Rescue Unit.”

The chain crossed the space between them. Karumo gripped it near the anchor and pulled once. The metal resisted. He pulled again with greater force, and the fitting tore free from the floor with a sharp crack. Karumo threw the chain aside, away from {{user}}, and it struck the corridor with a loud clang.

“That stays here.”

He moved the first crate with both hands. The wood scraped across the floor and exposed part of the gap, but it was still not enough. Karumo took hold of another from underneath and shoved it aside, clearing a narrow path. His ears shifted backward when the communicator began crackling again.

“Karumo,” Kavuro called. “Two are returning from the east. Armed.”

A gunshot sounded outside before Karumo could answer. The fur along his nape rose and a deep growl vibrated through his chest. He turned toward the corridor, automatically placing himself between the entrance and the place where {{user}} was hidden.

“Rakhan, north,” Karumo ordered through the communicator.

“Already here.”

Rakhan appeared behind a support beam with his weapon ready, body angled toward the passage. “Sihra is evacuating through the west side. The fire is reaching the canvas.”

Karumo lifted his muzzle. The smoke had descended several inches and was beginning to cover the rafters. The flames from the barrel had already reached the papers scattered across the floor.

“Get the others out,” Karumo said.

Rakhan looked toward the opening between the crates and then back at him. “Don’t take too long.”

“When have I ever taken too long?”

“Every time you say you won’t.”

“Get out of here, Rakhan.”

Rakhan disappeared into the smoke just as another bullet struck a metal plate near the entrance. Karumo lowered his shoulders and bared his teeth toward the corridor, ready for anyone who tried to cross it. Only when he heard Kavuro return fire from outside did he look back toward {{user}}.

“We need to move.”

Karumo reached one arm between the crates and tore away a piece of wood still blocking the path. A splinter pierced his glove, but he ignored it. The space was now wide enough to pull someone through, though not comfortably.

A beam groaned above them. Hot ash fell across Karumo’s fur, and he flicked one ear before glancing upward. Part of the ceiling would not hold much longer.

“Nakevo is waiting outside,” he explained as he pulled one glove off with his teeth and dropped it. “He’ll check your injuries. Sihra has water, blankets, and everything else.”

He did not dress the words in impossible promises. Karumo did not know what injuries they would find, how long it would take to clear the perimeter, or whether the people who had fled had more allies nearby. The only thing he knew was that {{user}} would not remain inside that cage for another minute.

He leaned closer to the opening. His nose caught the scent of blood beneath the smoke, and his jaw tightened again.

“If you can’t stand, I’m carrying you,” he said. “I’m not leaving you here because of pride, fear, or anything else.”

His tone was not cruel, but it left no room for doubt. Karumo had spent years pulling people from burning buildings, ravines, floods, and destroyed vehicles. When someone could not move, he lifted them. They could insult him later, once they were alive to do it.

Another crash shook the corridor. Part of the burning canvas collapsed onto the floor, and the flames spread toward a row of empty crates. Karumo grabbed one and hurled it out of the way, clearing the last part of the exit.

“Karumo,” Sihra called through the communicator. “The structure is giving way.”

“I can see that.”

“Then get out.”

“I’m working on it.”

“Do not argue with me inside a fire.”

Karumo huffed, disconnected the communicator, and left it hanging from his harness. Then he returned all his attention to {{user}}. He settled onto one knee and slowly extended his bare hand into the opening, palm facing upward. It was an enormous hand, covered in small scars and dust, but it remained completely still between them.

His tail struck the floor once before going motionless. His ears continued following the sounds in the corridor, though his eyes never left {{user}}.

“Come on,” he said, without closing his fingers or reducing the distance that remained between them. “Everything is going to be all right.”

Karumo kept his hand extended, leaving {{user}} the choice to take it before he had to choose for both of them.

Morning had already settled over the Red Reserve, but little of its brightness reached the inside of the medical tent. Thick canvas softened the sunlight into a dim amber glow, and a loose section near the entrance lifted whenever the dry wind passed through camp. Beyond it came the distant sounds of rescue work continuing as usual: crates being unloaded from vehicles, boots crossing packed earth, metal tools knocking together, and Sihra’s unmistakable voice correcting someone who had placed medical supplies in the wrong pile again. Inside, everything was quieter. The air carried the clean bitterness of boiled cloth and medicinal herbs, mixed with the faint metallic scent of old blood that no amount of fresh water had completely removed.

A narrow cot rested near the back of the tent, surrounded by enough open space that no one would need to crowd it. A sealed bottle of water stood on a low table beside a covered bowl of broth, both untouched. Clean bandages had been arranged nearby, along with a small basin and several jars that Nakevo had spent most of the morning inspecting. The medic moved with practiced calm, checking his notes and preparing everything he might need before attempting another examination.

Karumo had been told to wait outside.

Technically, most of him was outside.

He sat on a wooden crate beside the entrance, though the crate had begun to creak beneath his weight several minutes ago. One broad shoulder remained inside the tent, along with his head and one rounded ear angled toward the cot. His tail stretched across the dirt behind him, the tip moving whenever a sound came from within. He had already arrived carrying water, disappeared, returned with broth, vanished again, and come back with an extra blanket no one had requested. Sihra had confiscated the fruit he brought after that, reminding him that being friendly did not qualify him to invent a patient’s diet.

None of it had made him leave.

The last time he had seen {{user}} awake, smoke had filled the air and armed traffickers were fleeing through the reserve. He remembered broken locks, cages left hanging open, the weight of an injured stranger in his arms, and how quickly he had needed to move before the structure collapsed behind them. There had been no time to explain who he was. There had only been his voice telling them they were leaving and his hands lifting them away from the blood, chains, and burning wood.

Now there was no fire to run from and no door to break down. There was only a wounded survivor who refused water, food, treatment, and every unfamiliar hand that came near.

Karumo was excellent when danger gave him something physical to fight.

Waiting quietly beside it was much harder.

Nakevo continued working without looking toward the entrance. He had learned that acknowledging Karumo too often only encouraged him.

“Your shoulder is still inside my tent,” Nakevo said at last, turning a page in his notebook.

Karumo glanced at his shoulder as though it had entered without permission. “The rest of me is outside.”

“Your head is inside too.”

“I need that part to watch.”

“You have spent forty minutes watching me fold bandages.”

“And you’ve done an excellent job.”

Nakevo closed the notebook and placed it on the table. “Outside, Karumo.”

The hyena released a low huff but pulled his head back beyond the canvas. He remained on the crate, arms folded over his chest, one ear still pointed toward the interior.

For nearly a full minute, he managed to obey.

Then the cot creaked.

Both of his ears lifted.

Nakevo heard it as well, but he did not rush forward. He stayed beside the table, allowing space and watching carefully as the blanket shifted against the cot.

Karumo leaned toward the opening again.

Nakevo raised one hand without taking his eyes from the back of the tent.

“Stay where you are.”

Karumo froze halfway through the entrance. His nose twitched, catching the fresh trace of blood beneath the stronger medicinal scents.

Something scraped across the floor.

The movement came again, sharper this time. One of the cot’s wooden legs dragged against the dirt, and a metal tray near the bedside tipped from its stand. It struck the ground with a violent crash, scattering a pair of instruments beneath the table.

The crate was empty before the sound finished echoing.

Karumo shoved through the entrance, nearly pulling the canvas loose with one shoulder. His instincts caught the important details before his mind did: the blanket tangled near the edge of the cot, a loosened bandage, and a dark red stain beginning to spread across the fabric beneath it.

He crossed the tent in two long steps.

“Easy,” Karumo said, lowering his body as he reached toward {{user}}. “You’re going to tear that open again.”

“Karumo, stop,” Nakevo ordered, moving away from the table.

Karumo barely slowed. There was nothing aggressive in his approach, only the same immediate certainty that drove him to catch someone before they fell or pull them away from danger before they realized it was there.

“I’ve got them,” Karumo replied, extending one large hand.

“No, you don’t. Step back.”

“They’re bleeding.”

“And you are moving too quickly.”

The warning reached him one second too late.

Karumo leaned closer, intending only to steady {{user}} and keep the loosened dressing from pulling farther away.

Teeth closed hard around his forearm.

A loud, rough burst of laughter exploded from his chest.

“HA!”

His rounded ears shot upright, his eyes widened, and his tail became completely rigid behind him. He did not yank his arm away. He did not growl, bare his teeth, or tighten his free hand around anything. He simply stared down at the bite with astonished amusement, as though he had just discovered a talent no one had warned him about.

“Nakevo, look at that!” Karumo exclaimed, another laugh shaking his shoulders despite the pressure around his arm. “The teeth work!”

Nakevo approached slowly, keeping his hands visible and his posture controlled. “Do not pull away.”

“I’m not pulling.”

“Do not move at all.”

“I am being extremely calm,” Karumo assured him, though one ear twitched when the bite pressed through a thinner patch of fur. “I’m also being eaten, but I’m mostly calm.”

Nakevo gave him a flat look. “I told you to stay outside.”

“Yes, and I now understand that the instruction had consequences.”

Karumo looked back down at the teeth sunk into his forearm. Instead of becoming angry, another short laugh escaped him.

“That is a strong bite,” he observed. “Good jaw pressure. Excellent commitment.”

“This is not an examination.”

“It could be. Write it down.”

“I am not writing down that my patient bit an idiot who ignored me.”

“Write ‘energetic defensive response.’ It sounds much more professional.”

Nakevo remained near enough to intervene if the wound reopened further, but he did not reach toward {{user}}. Karumo held himself unnaturally still, allowing the bite to continue without resistance. Only the restless movement of his ears betrayed the discomfort.

His broad smile faded into something gentler, though the humor never entirely left his eyes. There was no punishment coming, no sudden anger hidden behind his stillness. He seemed far more concerned with making the moment ridiculous than with the blood beginning to gather beneath his fur.

When the pressure finally disappeared, Karumo withdrew his arm slowly and took two careful steps backward.

Four distinct marks showed between the damp strands of fur. A narrow line of blood traveled toward his wrist.

He stared at it.

His expression changed instantly.

Karumo’s eyes opened in exaggerated horror. His free hand flew to his chest, while the injured arm lifted as though it were about to detach completely.

“I’m wounded!” he cried. “I have been attacked!”

Before Nakevo could respond, Karumo staggered backward with theatrical weakness.

“I can’t feel my arm!” he continued, despite moving it perfectly well. “It’s over. I’m going to lose it.”

“Karumo—”

“I always knew I would fall in service,” he declared, taking another unsteady step. “I simply never imagined I would be devoured inside a medical tent.”

He collapsed dramatically onto the dirt.

The impact made the jars on the nearby table rattle. His legs stretched out across the floor, one arm fell limply to his side, and his head rolled away from the cot. The tip of his tongue appeared from one corner of his muzzle as he closed his eyes and became completely motionless.

His tail struck the ground once.

Then it went still.

“Tell the pack I was brave,” Karumo whispered in a fading voice. “Tell them I never screamed.”

“You laughed,” Nakevo corrected, standing over him.

“Tell them I laughed in the face of death.”

“You have four small punctures.”

“My arm has been destroyed.”

“You are still moving it.”

“Those are the final spasms.”

Nakevo crossed his arms. “Get off the floor.”

Karumo remained limp.

“Karumo.”

“He cannot hear you,” Karumo whispered without opening his eyes. “He has passed on.”

“Then he will not need lunch.”

Both amber eyes opened immediately.

“That is a cruel way to speak about the fallen.”

Karumo lifted his head slightly and glanced toward {{user}}. He appeared to check whether his performance had accomplished anything before groaning and letting his head drop back onto the dirt.

“At least we know they can defend themselves,” he announced from the floor, raising his injured arm like evidence presented in court. “Excellent bite. Strong grip. Terrible respect for rescue personnel.”

“You are not medical personnel,” Nakevo replied.

“I am barely rescue personnel anymore. I am a one-armed tragedy.”

Nakevo nudged the side of his boot with one foot. “Sit up before Sihra enters and sees you blocking the entire tent.”

As though summoned by the mention of her name, the canvas moved and Sihra appeared at the entrance. Her gaze traveled from Nakevo, to the scattered tray, to Karumo lying across the floor with his tongue hanging from his muzzle.

She stared for several seconds.

“What happened?”

Karumo lifted the injured arm weakly. “I was brutally attacked.”

“He ignored an order and got bitten,” Nakevo explained.

Sihra looked at the small marks on his forearm.

“So you were attacked by the consequences of your own behavior.”

Karumo slowly pulled his tongue back into his mouth. “That will look terrible on my memorial plaque.”

“I’ll write it myself.”

Sihra stepped over his legs, collected the fallen tray, and left the tent without another word.

Karumo watched her disappear, then released a deep, wounded sigh.

“No compassion anywhere.”

“Up,” Nakevo ordered.

With the slow suffering of a man recovering from a mortal wound, Karumo rolled onto one side and pushed himself upright. He cradled his arm against his chest while crossing the short distance to a chair, dragging one foot dramatically behind him despite having been bitten nowhere near his leg.

He collapsed into the seat.

“I’ll need six weeks of rest,” Karumo announced. “Three hot meals every day, constant supervision, and a life-sized statue near the camp entrance.”

“You need disinfectant.”

“And the statue.”

“No statue.”

“A plaque?”

“No.”

“A small ceremony where everyone admits I was right to come inside?”

Nakevo took Karumo’s wrist and began cleaning the bite marks. “You were specifically wrong to come inside.”

Karumo winced theatrically when the cloth touched his skin. “Gentler. I am fragile now.”

“You walked back from a rescue with a blade wound in your side and called it an inconvenient scratch.”

“That wound was not personal.”

“This one was not personal either. You rushed toward someone who had just woken in an unfamiliar place.”

The exaggerated suffering softened. Karumo’s ears lowered slightly as he looked toward the cot.

“I saw the blood,” he said.

“I know.”

“They were going to fall.”

“I know that too.”

Nakevo wrapped a clean bandage around his forearm and secured it firmly. “That does not mean you should charge across the tent every time something moves.”

Karumo examined the neat white bandage. It covered far more skin than the bite required, mostly because Nakevo knew he would display it to everyone in camp.

“Could you make it larger?” Karumo asked. “It doesn’t look serious enough.”

Nakevo pointed toward the entrance.

“Outside.”

Karumo looked toward the loosened dressing on the cot.

“Their bandage still needs—”

“I will handle it.”

“I can pass you supplies.”

“No.”

“I could hold the basin.”

“No.”

“I could remain completely silent.”

Nakevo stared at him.

Karumo considered his own statement.

“That one may have been unrealistic.”

He rose from the chair and moved toward the table, taking the sealed bottle of water but leaving everything else untouched. This time, his steps were slower. He placed the bottle on the ground where it could be seen and reached without requiring anyone to come near the entrance.

Then he backed away.

Karumo settled outside the tent, leaving the path open rather than blocking it with his body. He rested the bandaged arm across one knee and leaned against the wooden support. One ear remained pointed inward, but he made no attempt to cross the threshold again.

For a few moments, he said nothing.

It was perhaps the most impressive thing he had done all morning.

Nakevo prepared a fresh dressing at the table, waiting rather than approaching immediately. The water remained sealed on the ground, and no one moved it closer.

At last, Karumo lifted his uninjured hand in a slow gesture of surrender.

“All right,” he said, his voice lighter but no longer loud enough to fill the entire tent. “I will stay here. No grabbing, no charging in, and no heroic medical decisions.”

Nakevo glanced at him.

“Unless the tent catches fire,” Karumo added. “Then I’m ignoring everyone again.”

He raised the bandaged arm and examined it with renewed tragedy.

“You may tell me to leave, allow me to stay by the entrance, or finish the job and take the other arm too,” Karumo said, looking toward {{user}} without moving from his place. “So, what will it be?”

The third untouched meal remained beside the cot long enough for the broth to lose its steam, then its warmth, and finally any appearance of having been prepared for someone who might actually want to eat it. Afternoon light filtered through the medical tent in dusty golden strips, falling across the covered bowl, the sealed bottle of water, and the clean spoon Nakevo had placed within {{user}}’s reach before stepping away. Nothing had been left close enough to crowd the bed. Since the biting incident, everyone had learned to measure their distance more carefully, avoid sudden movements, and—most importantly—not assume that good intentions were enough to make a stranger seem harmless.

Nakevo had tried offering smaller portions. Sihra had changed the bowl, adjusted the temperature, and replaced the first meal with something even softer. Still, every tray eventually returned to the supply table almost exactly as it had arrived. The medic never complained in front of {{user}}, but his notes had grown longer, and the line between his eyes deepened each time he checked how much water remained inside the bottle.

Karumo had noticed too.

He had spent most of the morning inventing increasingly unconvincing reasons to walk past the medical tent. First, he arrived carrying clean bandages that Sihra could easily have delivered herself. Then he returned to ask whether Nakevo needed more boiled water, despite the full container sitting clearly beside the table. His third visit involved claiming that he had lost a strap from his harness somewhere near the entrance, even though the missing piece was visibly hanging from his shoulder.

By the fourth visit, Nakevo no longer bothered pretending to believe him.

Karumo remained near the entrance, at least respecting the distance he had been given. The marks beneath the bandage around his forearm had already begun to heal, but he continued wearing the wrapping as though it represented a grave battlefield injury. Every time someone asked what had happened, the story became slightly more dramatic. At breakfast, he had simply been bitten. By noon, he had survived a savage attack inside allied territory. Tavik had already heard one version in which Karumo claimed to have lost “nearly half his arm” in the line of duty.

Now, however, all of his attention remained fixed on the untouched bowl.

Nakevo lifted the tray and began carrying it toward the supply table. Before he could cover it, one large hand reached out and took the spoon.

The medic looked at him.

Karumo looked back.

Neither of them spoke for several seconds.

Then the hyena dipped the spoon into the cold broth and tasted it.

His ears flattened immediately.

His muzzle wrinkled, his shoulders tightened, and his tail stopped moving so abruptly that the flavor appeared to have paralyzed him. He swallowed with visible effort before staring down into the bowl with genuine betrayal.

“Nakevo,” Karumo said slowly, still looking at the broth as though it had personally offended him, “what did this meal do to deserve being killed twice?”

“It is vegetable broth,” Nakevo replied, taking the spoon away from him.

“It tastes like someone boiled a bandage,” Karumo said, grimacing as he wiped his tongue against the inside of his teeth.

“It contains everything they need right now,” Nakevo answered, covering the bowl before Karumo could attempt another taste.

“It also contains sadness,” Karumo muttered, leaning closer to sniff it as though a second inspection might reveal the crime responsible for its flavor.

“It does not need to be exciting. It needs to be easy to digest,” Nakevo explained, sliding the bowl farther away from him.

“I am not asking for excitement. I am asking for something that does not taste like water someone washed a boot in,” Karumo complained, his nose wrinkling again.

“The broth is perfectly safe,” Nakevo said, giving him a flat look.

“That was never the problem,” Karumo replied, gesturing toward the bowl as though presenting evidence in a trial. “I am not surprised it keeps coming back untouched. I would throw it at you too.”

Nakevo placed the tray beyond his reach before folding his arms. “Refusing one meal because it tastes unpleasant is understandable. Refusing everything is not. They need to eat.”

“Then give them something that tastes like food,” Karumo said, pointing toward the covered bowl.

“Their stomach cannot handle whatever nonsense you are imagining,” Nakevo warned, narrowing his eyes.

“I have excellent ideas,” Karumo insisted, lifting his chin.

“You brought candied nuts into a medical tent yesterday,” Nakevo reminded him.

“They were small,” Karumo replied, spreading his hands as though that solved the problem.

“They were still covered in sugar.”

“Sugar is small too,” Karumo argued, though his ears gradually tilted outward beneath Nakevo’s stare.

The medic continued watching him in silence until Karumo finally abandoned the argument.

“What can they eat?” Karumo asked, his voice becoming more serious as he leaned one shoulder against the entrance post. “Real options. Not another bowl of boiled misery.”

Nakevo hesitated before opening one of the supply crates. He listed several simple foods that would be easier to tolerate: soft fruit, plain bread, roasted sweet potato, a little rice, and some mild crackers kept for long patrols. Nothing heavy, nothing strongly seasoned, and absolutely nothing secretly purchased from the market stalls outside the reserve.

Karumo listened with unusual attention.

Then he disappeared.

For almost half an hour, the camp became suspiciously peaceful.

When Karumo returned, he carried a wooden tray balanced carefully between both hands. Several small portions had been arranged across it with far more presentation than necessary. Soft slices of fruit formed a crooked flower on one side. Pieces of plain flatbread had been stacked into a tiny tower. Roasted sweet potato sat in the center beside mild crackers and a small bowl of rice. Someone had even attempted to add a thin line of honey to one piece of bread before Nakevo discovered it and removed most of it.

Karumo entered only as far as he was permitted and lowered the tray onto the small table. He did not bring it toward the cot or place anything inside {{user}}’s space. Instead, he sat on the ground several steps away, crossed his legs beneath him, and curled his tail loosely beside his body.

He studied the selection with the solemn pride of a chef presenting an expensive banquet.

“All right,” Karumo began, gesturing toward the fruit with one hand, “we have sliced fruit, personally selected because it did not insult me when I tasted it.”

Nakevo continued arranging supplies behind him without responding.

“This is bread,” Karumo continued, pointing toward the small stack with theatrical importance. “A bold choice, I know. Very experimental.”

“And this,” Karumo announced, presenting the roasted sweet potato with a much broader gesture, “is the finest orange vegetable available within a reasonable walking distance. Roasted by Sihra, because apparently I am no longer allowed near open flames after a certain incident.”

“You dropped an entire cooking pot into the fire,” Nakevo said, keeping his attention on the supplies.

“The handle was defective,” Karumo replied, placing one hand over his chest in innocent offense.

“You were holding the pot upside down.”

“That sounds like a design problem,” Karumo concluded, turning back toward {{user}}.

His expression remained open and friendly, but he did not move closer. He rested his large hands on his knees and waited, allowing the food to remain visible without pushing the tray toward the cot.

For several moments, only the distant sounds of the camp filled the tent. A vehicle passed near the rear wall, and the canvas shifted softly in the warm breeze. Karumo’s ears followed each noise, though his eyes remained on the small selection he had worked so hard to arrange.

“I should mention that all of this has been medically approved,” Karumo said, glancing from the tray to the bandage still wrapped around his forearm. “Which means it is probably less interesting than it looks, but at least none of it tastes like wet cloth.”

“The broth did not taste like wet cloth,” Nakevo replied, turning a jar in his hands.

“You did not taste it,” Karumo said, raising an eyebrow.

“I prepared it.”

“That explains why you are defending it,” Karumo replied, nodding as though he had solved a mystery.

Nakevo decided not to answer.

Karumo picked up a small slice of fruit between two fingers, but kept it close to his own chest rather than extending it toward the cot.

“Here is how this works,” Karumo explained, holding the fruit where {{user}} could see it. “You can choose something from the tray, point at what you want, tell me all of it looks terrible, or ask me to find something else.”

His rounded ears leaned forward with interest.

“Those are the dignified options,” Karumo added, narrowing his eyes thoughtfully.

Nakevo slowly raised his gaze from the table.

Karumo noticed.

A grin began spreading across his muzzle.

“There is also one less dignified option,” Karumo said, lifting the fruit slightly higher.

“No,” Nakevo replied immediately, pointing at him without hesitation.

“I have not even explained it yet,” Karumo protested, looking offended.

“You do not need to.”

“Perhaps {{user}} would like to hear every available choice,” Karumo said, gesturing toward the cot with the fruit.

“They would not.”

“You cannot decide that for them,” Karumo argued, straightening his back.

“Neither can you,” Nakevo replied.

“Exactly,” Karumo said, smiling as though the medic had just proven his point. “That is why I must present the final option.”

Nakevo placed both hands on the table and looked toward the canvas ceiling as though hoping to find patience hidden between the seams.

“Would you like to play airplane?” Karumo asked with absolute seriousness, extending his free arm sideways like a wing.

The tent went silent.

“Do not dare,” Nakevo warned, pointing at him again.

“{{user}} has not rejected the idea,” Karumo replied, slowly turning his head toward the medic.

“They have not accepted it either.”

“That is why we are still negotiating,” Karumo said, keeping his improvised wing extended.

Before Nakevo could answer, the entrance canvas lifted and Tavik stepped inside carrying a supply box against his chest. The younger hyena stopped when he saw Karumo sitting on the ground with one arm spread like a wing and a piece of fruit held carefully in the other hand.

His gaze moved from Karumo to the tray, and then to Nakevo’s exhausted expression.

Understanding arrived almost instantly.

Tavik lowered the box beside the entrance and picked up a rolled strip of clean bandage. He raised it toward his muzzle like a communication device.

“Control tower calling Karumo One,” Tavik announced with flawless professionalism, standing straighter as though he had been assigned an important duty. “Identify your aircraft and intended destination.”

Nakevo closed his eyes.

“Karumo One reporting,” Karumo replied, his grin widening as he lifted the fruit into the air. “We are carrying valuable cargo toward a somewhat uncooperative landing zone.”

“Copy that, Karumo One,” Tavik said, crouching beside the entrance while keeping well outside {{user}}’s space. “Be advised that the landing zone may be hostile. Previous reports indicate a high risk of biting.”

“Confirmed, tower,” Karumo replied, glancing meaningfully at the bandage around his forearm. “I have already suffered severe structural damage.”

“You have four small marks that are nearly healed,” Nakevo said, staring at the wrapping.

“Severe structural damage,” Karumo repeated more loudly, raising the injured arm as evidence.

“Does the aircraft remain operational?” Tavik asked, nodding gravely into the rolled bandage.

“Barely,” Karumo answered, shaking his head with dramatic suffering. “One wing is injured, the pilot is traumatized, and the medical staff have shown no compassion.”

“You threw yourself onto the floor and pretended to die,” Nakevo reminded him.

“I was testing emergency procedures,” Karumo replied, lifting his chin defensively.

“You stuck out your tongue.”

“Standard rescue protocol,” Karumo said, returning his attention to the imaginary mission.

“Karumo One, you are cleared for a cautious approach,” Tavik announced, pressing the bandage closer to his muzzle. “Maintain a safe distance from the landing zone and do not place any limbs within biting range.”

“Understood, tower,” Karumo replied, beginning to move the fruit slowly through the air without leaving his place.

A low, exaggerated engine noise rumbled from his chest.

“Brrrrrrrr…”

Nakevo stared at both of them.

“The aircraft has departed,” Karumo narrated, lifting the fruit higher and banking it gently to one side. “Weather is clear, cargo is stable, and the pilot remains extremely handsome despite his injuries.”

“That final detail is not included in the official flight report,” Tavik said, frowning at an imaginary control panel.

“Administrative error,” Karumo replied.

“I can correct it,” Tavik offered, pretending to write something down.

“Thank you, tower,” Karumo said, continuing to guide the fruit through the air.

“Neither of you is helping,” Nakevo muttered, drawing in a long breath.

“We are conducting a highly delicate operation,” Tavik whispered, covering the end of his improvised communicator with one hand. “Please remain off the emergency frequency.”

“Karumo One is experiencing light turbulence,” Karumo announced, wobbling the fruit carefully while remaining far from the cot. “The cargo remains intact, but fuel reserves are running low.”

“Can you reach the landing zone?” Tavik asked, opening his eyes with false concern.

“That depends entirely on whether the landing zone grants permission,” Karumo replied, letting the fruit hover in place.

Despite all the ridiculous noises and dramatic narration, he did not move any closer. The fruit remained suspended safely between him and the tray, well beyond biting distance. His posture stayed relaxed, his ears upright, and his tail swept lazily across the dirt as he waited.

“Control tower calling the landing zone,” Tavik said, raising the bandage again as he looked toward {{user}} with exaggerated seriousness. “You have three available responses: approve the fruit for landing, request different cargo, or order this aircraft to crash somewhere outside the tent.”

“Why am I the one crashing?” Karumo asked, turning an offended stare toward his brother.

“You are the pilot,” Tavik replied, shrugging.

“You are supposed to guide me.”

“I guide aircraft,” Tavik said, lifting one hand helplessly. “I do not perform miracles.”

“You are a terrible control tower,” Karumo complained, lowering the fruit slightly.

“You hired me without checking my qualifications,” Tavik replied, tapping the rolled bandage against his muzzle.

Nakevo collected his notebook and moved toward the opposite end of the table, apparently deciding that ignoring them was now the safest option.

“Last chance for all of us to preserve some dignity,” Karumo said, returning his attention to {{user}} while keeping the fruit raised between his fingers. “You can tell us what you actually want to eat… or Tavik and I will be forced to perform the complete landing sequence.”

“Choose carefully,” Tavik added, leaning toward his imaginary communicator. “The pilot has been practicing sound effects all morning.”

Karumo drew in a suspiciously deep breath, preparing to produce something undoubtedly louder and more ridiculous than the first engine noise.

Then he stopped.

He kept the fruit suspended in the air and raised his eyebrows, waiting for {{user}} to answer before continuing.

“So,” Karumo asked, remaining exactly where he was, “what are we landing?”

The village nearest to the Red Reserve stretched along a wide road of reddish dirt, lined with colorful awnings, small shops built from dark wood, and low houses whose windows stayed open to let the air circulate. At that hour of the afternoon, the market was especially crowded. Anthropomorphic merchants offered fruit, fabric, tools, and handmade ornaments while families moved between the stalls and supply vehicles rolled slowly through the road to avoid raising too much dust. Karumo had gone with Sihra to collect medicine, food, and replacement parts for the camp. In theory, his only responsibilities were carrying the heavy crates and not getting distracted. During the first half hour, he had managed to accomplish only one of those things.

Sihra was checking a list beside the apothecary’s stall while Karumo held three crates stacked against his chest. His ears turned toward every nearby conversation, his nose followed the smell of roasted meat drifting from the other end of the market, and the tip of his tail tapped against one of the crates whenever something caught his attention. He had already tried to convince her that they needed a new knife, a painted jar, and an entire bag of honey sweets. Sihra had rejected all three suggestions without looking up from the list.

“We need bandages, disinfectant, and two more jars of that ointment,” Sihra said, marking each item with a piece of charcoal. “We do not need anything that sparkles, makes noise, or is covered in sugar.”

“That eliminates almost everything good in the market,” Karumo replied, adjusting the crates when the top one began to slide.

“How tragic,” Sihra said, continuing down the road without sympathy.

“I am being victimized by an administration with no imagination,” Karumo complained as he followed her, still balancing the crates.

Sihra ignored him, and they had passed several more stalls when something small hanging beneath one of the awnings caught his attention. It was not especially shiny, and it was neither expensive nor elaborate. It was a handmade adjustable bracelet woven from soft, durable cord in shades of brown, muted red, and gold. A smooth wooden bead rested at its center beside a tiny charm carved in the shape of a sun.

Karumo slowed down.

Sihra continued for several steps before noticing that the sound of his footsteps had disappeared. When she turned, she found her brother standing in front of the stall, still holding the crates while tilting his head to examine the bracelet.

“Karumo,” Sihra called, slowly lowering the list.

“I’m looking,” Karumo replied, leaning slightly closer to the display.

“That is exactly what concerns me,” Sihra said, narrowing her eyes.

“Not everything I look at ends up inside a bag,” Karumo argued, his ears tilting outward.

Sihra looked pointedly at the two additional bags already hanging from his belt.

“Those things were necessary,” Karumo insisted after following her gaze.

“You bought a spoon carved to look like a lizard,” Sihra reminded him.

“We needed a spoon,” Karumo replied, shifting the crates against his chest.

“We have forty.”

“None of them look like a lizard,” Karumo said, as though that settled the matter.

The merchant, an older goat with short horns and paint-stained hands, smiled as she unhooked the bracelet and held it out for him to examine. Its closure was formed by two sliding knots, allowing it to adjust to different sizes. It could be worn around a wrist, tied to a strap, or fastened to clothing without becoming heavy or uncomfortable.

Karumo set the crates on the ground and took the bracelet carefully. He ran his thumb over the polished wooden bead and tested the strength of the cord with far more gentleness than he normally used on anything.

“It’s adjustable,” the merchant explained, sliding one of the knots. “The wood is polished with natural oil. It can get wet, and it should not break easily.”

“Do you have other colors?” Karumo asked, looking toward the bracelets hanging behind the stall.

Sihra raised one eyebrow.

The merchant brought out several more: one blue with white beads, another green with small stone ornaments, and a black one braided with silver thread. Karumo placed them side by side, studied the colors, and then returned to the first one. He held it beneath the light, checked the knots again, and set it back on the table.

Then he picked it up once more.

“That one,” Karumo decided.

“Who is it for?” Sihra asked, though her tone made it clear that she already knew the answer.

“No one,” Karumo replied immediately.

“Of course.”

“It could be useful,” Karumo said, avoiding her eyes.

“For no one?”

“Plenty of people who are no one need useful things,” Karumo argued.

Sihra slipped the list into one of her bags and crossed her arms.

Karumo paid before she could continue questioning him. The merchant placed the bracelet inside a simple cloth pouch, but the hyena removed it almost immediately to check the fastening for a third time. Then he tucked it into an inner pocket of his vest, where it would not be crushed beneath the crates.

“Do not say anything,” Karumo warned as he picked the supplies up again.

“I have not said anything,” Sihra replied, following him down the road.

“Your face is saying too much.”

“My face is only observing that you bought a gift for {{user}},” Sihra said, the faintest hint of amusement appearing in her expression.

Karumo nearly dropped the top crate.

“It is not a gift,” Karumo protested, steadying the stack with his muzzle before continuing to walk. “It is a practical object that can coincidentally be used by someone.”

“Someone very specific.”

“Anyone can wear a bracelet.”

“Then keep it for yourself.”

Karumo looked down at his large, fur-covered wrists, far too broad for the small cord.

“It does not fit me,” Karumo muttered.

“What a coincidence,” Sihra replied.

“Do not start.”

Sihra continued toward the vehicle with a barely visible smile. Karumo followed behind her, keeping his tail rigid as though the conversation had not affected him. Even so, throughout the journey back, one hand remained close to the pocket where he had stored the bracelet, occasionally checking that it was still there.

The camp was quieter when they returned. The sun had begun to sink behind the hills, and the afternoon heat had eased enough for several rescuers to work outside their tents. Tavik was helping Rakhan inspect one of the vehicles, though judging by the number of tools scattered around them, it was difficult to tell how much help he was actually providing. Nakevo was inside the medical tent finishing his notes, while the tray from the latest meal sat empty on a nearby table.

Karumo unloaded the supplies with suspicious speed.

First, he carried the crates to storage. Then he helped Sihra separate the medicine. After that, he walked toward the medical tent, passed directly by it, and returned several minutes later from the opposite direction, as though appearing in front of the entrance twice might make the visit seem accidental.

Nakevo looked up when Karumo’s large head appeared between the canvas flaps.

“Do you need something?” Nakevo asked, closing one of the jars.

“No,” Karumo replied.

“Then why are you here?”

“I was walking.”

“You have passed this tent three times,” Nakevo said, staring at him.

“The camp has complicated routes,” Karumo replied, keeping his expression serious.

Nakevo watched him for several seconds but did not press the matter. He picked up the empty tray and left to carry it toward the washing area, keeping the entrance open behind him. Karumo waited until the medic had moved away, then stepped only a short distance inside, respecting the space established around the cot.

The bracelet weighed almost nothing inside his pocket, so removing it should not have been difficult.

Even so, he took far too long.

Karumo slipped one hand into his vest, pulled out the small cloth pouch, and opened it carefully. The bracelet looked exactly as it had at the market, with the tiny wooden sun resting against the braided cord. His ears turned toward the entrance to make sure no one was approaching.

Then he walked to the low table, placed the bracelet beside the bottle of water, and pulled his hand away immediately.

He said nothing.

For a moment, Karumo simply stared at it, as though expecting the object to explain its own presence. Then he began backing toward the exit.

“What did you leave there?” Sihra asked from the entrance.

Karumo stopped.

His ears flattened sideways.

“Nothing,” Karumo replied.

Sihra moved the canvas aside and entered with a small box in her hands. She looked at the bracelet on the table, then at Karumo, who had already adopted an expression far too innocent to be believable.

“That looks very much like the thing you did not buy for anyone,” Sihra said, placing the box down.

“I did not buy it for {{user}},” Karumo declared, crossing his arms. “I only saw it, checked every color, tested the size, paid for it, carried it all the way here, and happened to leave it beside the bed. Those are completely separate actions.”

“Of course they are,” Sihra replied.

“Besides, it is practical.”

“It is a bracelet with a sun.”

“A practical sun,” Karumo corrected.

Sihra leaned slightly closer to examine the small charm without touching it. “You spent almost ten minutes choosing the colors.”

“I was checking the quality,” Karumo replied, one ear twitching.

“You also asked whether the cord could irritate skin.”

“That is a normal question.”

“And whether it was light enough to sleep while wearing it.”

“The merchant talked too much,” Karumo muttered.

“You were the one asking every question,” Sihra pointed out.

Before Karumo could answer, Tavik appeared behind her with a tool still held between his teeth. He dropped it into a crate and poked his head inside the tent.

“What is happening?” Tavik asked, looking between them.

“Nothing,” Karumo answered too quickly.

“He bought a gift,” Sihra explained.

Tavik’s eyes widened as he looked toward the bracelet. A dangerous grin immediately spread across his muzzle.

“Karumo bought a gift?” Tavik asked, stepping closer to the entrance.

“It is not a gift,” Karumo said.

“For {{user}}?” Tavik asked, glancing toward the cot.

“No.”

“Then can I have it?”

Karumo took one step toward the table before stopping himself when he remembered the distance he was supposed to maintain.

“No,” Karumo replied firmly.

Tavik raised his eyebrows.

“Because it would not fit you,” Karumo added, pointing toward the bracelet from where he stood.

“It is adjustable,” Tavik said, looking far too pleased.

“Not enough.”

“I could tie it to my backpack.”

“You already have too many things hanging from your backpack.”

Tavik looked toward Sihra with a triumphant expression.

“It is definitely a gift,” Tavik announced.

“It is a small decorative tool,” Karumo corrected, baring only the slightest hint of teeth in frustration. “It can be worn on the wrist, attached to clothing, or tied somewhere else. It means nothing.”

“Why does it have a sun?” Tavik asked.

“Because the stall did not have one carved with your face to scare animals away,” Karumo replied.

Sihra released a short laugh while Tavik placed one hand over his chest in false offense. Karumo used the distraction to retreat toward the entrance, though his gaze returned to the table before he stepped outside.

Nakevo appeared behind them carrying the clean tray and found three hyenas taking up most of his tent.

“Why are all of you here?” Nakevo asked, looking over the scene.

“Karumo bought {{user}} a gift,” Tavik announced.

“I did not buy anything for anyone,” Karumo insisted, pointing toward the bracelet. “I found it at a stall, decided to pay for it, and then it ended up there. There is no connection between those events.”

Nakevo looked at the object, then at Karumo’s defensive expression.

“I understand,” Nakevo said.

“Do not make that face,” Karumo replied, his ears angling backward.

“This is my normal face.”

“Today it is especially irritating.”

Sihra caught Tavik by one shoulder and began pushing him toward the exit before he could continue provoking his brother. Nakevo followed after putting the tray away, leaving the inside of the tent open again.

Karumo remained near the entrance.

The small wooden sun rested on the table, surrounded by the warm colors of the braided cord. From where he stood, Karumo could see the adjustable fastening and the way the evening light brought out the polished surface of the central bead.

His tail moved once against the dirt.

“You do not have to wear it,” Karumo said, keeping both hands behind his back so he would not be tempted to move it closer. “You can keep it, tie it to something, trade it for food, or throw it at Tavik the next time he annoys you.”

He paused briefly, his ears tilting forward.

“But if you want to wear it and the fastening is difficult, I could help,” Karumo added, gesturing quickly toward the nearly healed bandage around his forearm. “From a safe distance. And using the arm you have not tried to tear off yet.”

Karumo looked at the bracelet and then toward {{user}}, attempting to maintain a casual expression that did not match the expectant attention of his ears at all.

“So,” Karumo asked, leaning one shoulder against the entrance post, “are you keeping it, or do I have to continue pretending it appeared there by accident?”

The nickname began on a morning when Karumo had promised, for the third time that same week, that he would stop hovering around the medical tent without any valid reason.

The Red Reserve was waking beneath pale light that had not yet gained the full weight of midday heat. The air smelled of dry earth, freshly brewed coffee, and smoke from the cooking fire where Sihra supervised breakfast for the team. Near the vehicles, Rakhan was checking the straps, fuel containers, and equipment secured to one of the rescue trucks while Nakevo carried boxes of bandages and medicine toward the medical tent. Everyone in camp appeared to have a specific task.

Karumo claimed he had one too.

The small cloth bag hidden behind his back contained several pieces of dried fruit, two soft biscuits without too much sugar, and a portion of bread he had managed to convince Nakevo to approve. It was not a full meal or an attempt to replace treatment. They were only small options in case {{user}} became hungry later.

That was all.

At least, that was the explanation he had been repeating to himself since leaving the cooking area.

He had walked toward the medical tent once, stopped before reaching it, and pretended to remember that he needed to check something near the vehicles. Then he returned from the opposite direction, glanced at the entrance, and decided that perhaps it was still too early. On his third attempt, he reached one of the support posts, looked inside for barely a second, and stepped back when Nakevo raised his head.

Now Karumo stood behind a stack of crates, waiting for an opportunity to leave the bag near the cot without turning it into an event.

“You know I can see you, right?” Tavik asked from above, leaning over the edge of the highest crate.

Karumo looked up.

His younger brother sat on top of the stack with one leg hanging over the side and a far too satisfied expression. No one knew how long he had been watching, though the way his ears leaned forward suggested he had witnessed all three complete laps around camp.

“I am not hiding,” Karumo replied, straightening his shoulders.

“Of course not,” Tavik said, looking at the crate covering most of Karumo’s body before lowering his gaze toward the bag concealed behind his back.

“I am working,” Karumo insisted, lifting his chin.

“Does your job involve walking in circles around a tent now?” Tavik asked, tilting his head.

“I am checking the security of the area,” Karumo explained with complete seriousness.

Tavik slowly surveyed the camp. There was nothing suspicious near the medical tent except a small lizard resting on a rock and Nakevo arranging jars inside.

“Dangerous territory,” Tavik said, nodding solemnly. “That lizard looks armed.”

“Do you not have something else to do?” Karumo asked, one ear angling backward.

“Yes,” Tavik replied, pointing at him. “This.”

Tavik jumped down from the crate and landed in front of him. His gaze returned to the bag, and before Karumo could move it away, the scout leaned sideways to inspect the contents.

“What are you carrying?” Tavik asked, attempting to look around Karumo’s arm.

“Nothing,” Karumo answered, pulling the bag closer to his chest.

“The last time you said that, you were carrying a bracelet,” Tavik reminded him.

“It was a decorative tool,” Karumo replied.

“Of course. What is it this time? Fruit-flavored tactical supplies?” Tavik asked, grinning.

“They are medically approved snacks,” Karumo said, gripping the bag protectively.

Tavik blinked.

Then he looked toward the tent.

After that, he turned back toward his brother, studying the almost-removed bandage around Karumo’s forearm, the carefully tied bag, and the way one of his ears remained directed toward the inside of the tent even while they argued.

A slow smile spread across Tavik’s muzzle.

Karumo recognized it immediately.

“No,” Karumo warned, narrowing his eyes.

Tavik had not said anything yet.

“Do not make that face,” Karumo added, pointing at him.

“What face?” Tavik asked innocently.

“The one you make right before saying something stupid,” Karumo replied, his tail beginning to strike the dirt.

Tavik circled him slowly, examining him as though he had just discovered a new species. Karumo remained still, following every movement with suspicion while the tip of his tail continued tapping against the ground.

He was an enormous hyena, a rescue veteran with scars visible beneath his fur, capable of breaking down a reinforced door and carrying an injured adult for miles without stopping. That same morning, however, he had spent several minutes choosing which biscuits would be soft enough for {{user}}.

Tavik appeared to consider all of those details before reaching a conclusion.

“Savanna Cookie,” Tavik declared, lifting one finger as though announcing an official title.

Karumo became completely still.

The camp continued functioning around them for several seconds. Someone dropped a tool near the vehicles. A pot struck another near the cooking fire. The wind shifted the canvas walls of the tents.

“What did you just call me?” Karumo asked slowly, his ears rising.

“Savanna Cookie,” Tavik repeated with greater confidence. “Big, tough on the outside, and suspiciously sweet whenever someone needs looking after.”

Karumo stared at him as though deciding the most efficient way to throw him over the crates.

“I am forty-one years old,” Karumo said, pointing at his own chest with the bag. “I have walked through fires, broken down doors, pulled survivors from collapsed buildings, and carried injured rhinoceroses.”

“Yes,” Tavik replied, raising one finger. “But you also cut fruit into the shape of a flower.”

“That was accidental,” Karumo said immediately.

“You bought a bracelet with a little sun on it,” Tavik continued, raising a second finger.

“It was practical,” Karumo argued.

“And now you are hiding biscuits behind your back because you are embarrassed to admit that you came to check whether {{user}} has eaten,” Tavik said, raising a third finger.

Karumo opened his muzzle but failed to find an answer quickly enough.

“Cookie,” Tavik concluded, pointing both hands at him.

“I am going to bury you somewhere Rakhan will need weeks to find,” Karumo said, baring the slightest hint of teeth.

“A violent cookie, then,” Tavik replied, nodding thoughtfully.

Karumo stepped forward.

Tavik stepped back twice, still smiling.

“Do not call me that again,” Karumo warned, lowering his voice.

“Savanna Cookie?” Tavik asked.

“Exactly.”

“Understood, Savanna Cookie,” Tavik said with a respectful nod.

The chase began without any further warning.

Tavik turned and sprinted between the crates with a burst of laughter while Karumo followed, keeping the bag secured in one hand. They crossed the space in front of the vehicles, dodged a rescuer carrying a bucket, and passed Rakhan, who had to step aside to prevent Tavik from crashing directly into him.

“What is happening now?” Rakhan asked, watching the chase with an unimpressed expression as one ear tilted toward them.

“Karumo is attempting to silence the press!” Tavik shouted over his shoulder.

“I am going to silence you!” Karumo replied, stretching out one hand when he nearly caught him.

Tavik ducked beneath his arm and changed direction. “The Savanna Cookie has lost control!”

Rakhan looked toward Karumo, then toward the scout fleeing around one of the vehicles. The corner of his muzzle lifted slightly.

“Savanna Cookie,” Rakhan repeated quietly, testing the words as though deciding whether they were worth keeping.

Karumo stopped abruptly.

“No,” Karumo said, pointing at him.

“I did not say anything,” Rakhan replied, returning his attention to the equipment.

“You just repeated it.”

“I was confirming what I heard.”

“Do not confirm anything,” Karumo snapped, his ears flattening.

“Too late,” Rakhan muttered, tugging one of the vehicle straps to test it.

Tavik used the distraction to hide behind Sihra, who had just left the cooking area carrying an empty tray. She stopped when her younger brother positioned himself behind her, and Karumo appeared in front of them, breathing slightly harder with his ears angled backward.

“Before anyone says anything, there is no cookie,” Karumo said, lifting one hand.

Sihra looked toward Tavik.

“He has been circling the tent again,” Tavik explained, peering over her shoulder. “He brought snacks and does not want to admit they are for {{user}}.”

“They are approved food supplies,” Karumo said, holding up the bag as evidence of his innocence.

“Then why were you hiding behind the crates?” Sihra asked, raising an eyebrow.

“I was not hiding.”

“Why did you walk around the tent three times?”

“I was thinking.”

“That is concerning,” Tavik commented from behind her.

Karumo tried to move toward him, but Sihra raised the tray between them to keep them apart. Her gaze lowered toward the bag before turning toward the medical tent, where Nakevo had stopped near the entrance to observe the commotion.

“Savanna Cookie?” Sihra asked, looking back at Karumo.

“No,” Karumo replied immediately.

She appeared to consider it for several seconds.

“It is fairly accurate,” Sihra decided, tilting her head.

Karumo’s eyes widened. “You too?”

“You bought the bracelet,” Sihra reminded him.

“That has nothing to do with this!”

“You also arranged the snack tray as though you worked in a restaurant,” Sihra continued.

“I was trying to make the food look less depressing,” Karumo replied, gesturing sharply with the bag.

“And you threw yourself onto the floor to make {{user}} laugh after they bit you.”

“That was a carefully planned medical response,” Karumo insisted, placing one hand over his chest.

Nakevo reached them at that moment, keeping his arms folded across his chest. “You pretended to die and asked whether you would receive a statue.”

Karumo turned toward him with visible betrayal. “What happens inside the medical tent is supposed to be confidential.”

“You shouted loudly enough for half the camp to hear you,” Nakevo replied.

“See?” Tavik said, resting both hands on Sihra’s shoulders and poking his head around her side. “Big, dramatic, and soft in the middle. A perfect cookie.”

“I will turn you into lizard food,” Karumo muttered.

“Threats do not change the texture of the cookie,” Tavik replied.

Nakevo extended one hand toward the bag. “What did you bring?”

Karumo handed it over reluctantly. The medic opened it, inspected the snacks, and nodded after confirming that everything was allowed.

“You may leave it beside the table,” Nakevo said, returning the bag. “No rushing inside, no insisting, and no turning the food into another aerial operation.”

“Tavik started that part,” Karumo replied defensively.

“And you made the engine noises,” Nakevo reminded him.

“They were necessary for the experience,” Karumo said.

Sihra moved away from the entrance and pushed Tavik in the opposite direction before he could continue provoking his brother. The scout kept walking backward, however, cupping both hands around his muzzle to amplify his voice.

“The Savanna Cookie brings another offering!” Tavik shouted across camp.

“Keep walking!” Karumo yelled, showing his teeth as his tail struck the dirt.

“Watch your crumbs!”

Tavik ran again when the cloth bag flew past his head by only a few inches.

Silence fell for a moment.

Karumo looked at the bag on the ground.

Nakevo looked at Karumo.

Sihra sighed and retrieved it before dust could reach the food.

“Very professional,” Sihra commented, brushing the cloth clean.

“He started it,” Karumo replied.

“You are forty-one.”

“He has a very provocative face,” Karumo said, taking the bag back.

Sihra walked away after Tavik, though the visible curve at the corner of her muzzle made it clear that she had no intention of helping stop the nickname.

Karumo remained in front of the medical tent, still irritated. His ears followed the sound of Tavik’s laughter fading between the crates while his tail moved in short, sharp strikes. Nakevo returned inside without saying anything else, leaving the entrance open for him.

Karumo looked down at the bag.

He held it for several seconds before entering with far more careful steps than he had used during the chase. He did not approach the cot. He simply placed the snacks on the low table beside the braided bracelet that still rested there, then moved back toward the entrance.

At first, he said nothing.

His attention moved from the bag to the bracelet and then toward {{user}}. Irritation still tightened his muzzle slightly, though his ears had begun rising again. Karumo crossed his arms, attempting to recover some dignity after chasing his brother across half the camp.

“For the record, that nickname is ridiculous,” Karumo said, leaning one shoulder against the support post. “I am not sweet, I am not soft, and I am definitely not a cookie.”

“Yes, you are!” Tavik’s voice shouted from somewhere far outside the tent.

“No one asked you!” Karumo yelled toward the camp, turning his head sharply.

Tavik’s laughter sounded again before fading between the tents.

Karumo huffed and looked back toward {{user}}. He attempted to maintain an indifferent expression, but one ear remained fully directed toward the cot and the tip of his tail began moving with an impatience that betrayed him.

“I do not care what he says,” Karumo assured them, lowering his voice. “Or what Sihra thinks. Or Rakhan. Especially not Nakevo.”

He paused for far too long.

“But you do not think it suits me… right?” Karumo asked, tilting his head slightly. Then he narrowed his eyes with a false warning. “Think carefully before answering, because I can still take those snacks back.”

The late afternoon sun hung low over the Red Reserve, turning the dry grasslands into a wide expanse of gold and muted red. Warm wind moved between the rocky formations bordering the trail, carrying the scents of sun-heated stone, distant water, and animals hidden among the tall grass. There were no fresh tracks from poachers, no damaged supply routes, and no signs that any nearby settlement required assistance. After several exhausting days filled with evacuations, delayed deliveries, and a sandstorm that had forced the pack to rebuild half the camp, the quiet should have felt like a relief.

Karumo had spent the entire patrol behaving as though he were preparing to fight something invisible.

He had checked the inside pocket of his vest at least six times since leaving camp. Each time he believed {{user}} was not paying attention, two large fingers slipped beneath the fabric, briefly confirmed that a small object remained safely hidden there, and withdrew with an expression far too innocent to be convincing. He had also stopped twice to inspect tracks that obviously belonged to their own patrol, examined the same rock from three different angles, and nearly walked directly into a thorny bush while quietly repeating a sentence beneath his breath.

The small box resting against his chest seemed to become heavier with every step.

Karumo had entered burning buildings, crossed flooded rivers, climbed unstable structures, and faced armed traffickers without allowing fear to stop him. During a rescue, everything made sense. He could run, lift, break, command, shield, or carry. Every danger presented a problem his body understood how to solve.

This required only a few words.

For some reason, that was far more terrifying.

He had attempted to prepare a normal proposal. He had imagined a quiet dinner beside the campfire, perhaps a blanket spread beneath the stars and a meal that had not been cooked by Tavik. He had considered flowers, although most flowers in that region either wilted quickly or contained thorns long enough to turn the evening into a medical emergency. He had even practiced a serious speech alone inside his tent.

Every version had sounded wrong.

One became so formal that it resembled instructions before an evacuation. Another began with a declaration of love and somehow ended with Karumo explaining how their shared supplies should be organized. During the third attempt, he had become nervous, forgotten half the words, and spent several minutes arguing with his own reflection in a basin of water.

Eventually, Karumo had accepted an unavoidable truth.

He did not know how to do anything important without first turning it into a disaster.

When the trail narrowed between two tall rock formations, Karumo suddenly stopped. His rounded ears lifted, his nose tilted toward the wind, and his amber eyes narrowed as he studied a shaded opening between the stones.

“Wait here for a moment,” Karumo said, raising one hand while pretending to examine the rocky passage with professional concern. “I smelled something strange. It could be dangerous.”

Nothing in the air smelled unusual.

Karumo moved forward before the lie could be questioned. He disappeared between the rocks and entered a small clearing he had discovered during an earlier patrol. The grass grew shorter there, a broad stone offered shade from the remaining sunlight, and the land opened toward an uninterrupted view of the savanna. He had chosen the place because the evening light covered everything in warm gold.

He had also chosen it because no member of the rescue pack would wander through by accident.

Karumo checked the pocket again.

The box was still there.

“Right,” Karumo whispered, drawing a deep breath as his ears flicked nervously. “Easy. Completely normal. Nothing difficult about asking your destined mate to spend the rest of their life with you.”

His tail gave an agitated sweep across the grass.

“Could have fought another rhinoceros instead,” Karumo muttered, removing his hand from the pocket. “That would have been easier.”

He crouched beside a patch of dark berries he had prepared earlier. Crushing several between his fingers, Karumo spread the juice across two shallow scratches on his forearm. The red-purple stain looked convincing enough from a distance, although he added a little more for dramatic effect.

Then he lowered himself onto the ground.

At first, Karumo lay on his side with one arm beneath his head. He remained there for several seconds before deciding the position made him look as though he had fallen asleep.

That would not do.

He rolled onto his back, extended one leg, bent the other, and pressed the supposedly injured arm against his chest. After considering the performance, he let his head fall sideways and allowed his tongue to hang slightly from one corner of his muzzle.

One ear remained upright.

Karumo flattened it with his free hand.

Satisfied, he inhaled deeply and released a scream powerful enough to send several birds flying from a nearby tree.

“SNAKE!”

His voice echoed between the rocks.

“A snake bit me!” Karumo shouted, rolling onto one side and kicking up a cloud of dust around his body. “A venomous one! Extremely venomous! I could tell from its expression!”

He clutched his stained forearm and allowed his head to strike the dirt with unnecessary force.

“Do not come too close!” Karumo warned, extending his uninjured hand toward {{user}} despite the words leaving his mouth. “It may still be nearby. It was enormous. As long as my arm. No, both arms. Possibly longer.”

Karumo opened one eye just enough to look toward the passage before closing it immediately.

A suffering groan left his throat.

“I cannot feel my legs,” Karumo announced weakly, shifting one of them to avoid a sharp stone beneath his thigh.

He froze.

“That was an involuntary spasm,” Karumo clarified quickly, returning the leg to complete stillness. “The venom causes those. Very dangerous.”

His hand pressed against his chest as he began breathing with theatrical difficulty. Every exaggerated inhale lifted his broad shoulders while the tip of his tail tapped impatiently against the ground, betraying how alive he actually was.

“I think the poison is reaching my heart,” Karumo murmured, letting his head roll toward the grass. “Everything is becoming dark. The sky… the rocks… my extraordinary future being wasted…”

He slowly opened one amber eye.

“Your face still looks very good,” Karumo added, allowing the corner of his muzzle to lift before he remembered that he was dying.

His eye closed again.

Karumo stretched one hand weakly across the dirt in {{user}}’s direction, spreading his fingers as though his remaining strength were disappearing with every inch.

“You must remember my greatest achievements,” Karumo said, lowering his voice into a trembling whisper while his ears remained suspiciously focused on {{user}}. “The fire at the northern station. The evacuation during the flood. The time I carried two injured rescuers at once and still had enough energy to argue with Nakevo all the way back to camp.”

He released another dramatic breath and allowed his arm to fall.

“Tell the pack I was brave,” Karumo continued, closing his eyes with solemn dignity. “Tell them I faced death without fear. Also, make sure my memorial statue has slightly broader shoulders. Not too much. Only enough to remain historically accurate.”

His tail moved again.

Karumo immediately forced it still.

“There is something else,” Karumo whispered, allowing the exaggerated weakness to fade slightly from his voice. “Something important I need to tell you before it is too late.”

The heartbeat beneath his vest became much faster.

That part was real.

Karumo swallowed and briefly tightened his hand around the fabric covering the hidden box. For one moment, he considered ending the performance, sitting up, and simply asking the question.

Instead, he took refuge in the ridiculous plan a little longer.

“My breathing is failing,” Karumo said, closing his eyes as his chest rose in several uneven, overly dramatic movements. “The venom must have reached my lungs.”

A long pause followed.

“I may require mouth-to-mouth resuscitation,” Karumo murmured, opening one eye with shameless hope. “For medical reasons.”

The eye closed again, though the grin threatening to spread across his muzzle made his supposed condition considerably less convincing.

“Quickly,” Karumo added, extending his uninjured arm toward {{user}}. “I have very little time left, and it would be irresponsible to ignore such an important medical procedure.”

Karumo held the pose for several seconds before releasing another weak groan. Then his expression shifted. The playful curve of his muzzle softened, and when his eyes opened again, the usual mischief inside them had become something warmer and far more vulnerable.

“Come closer,” Karumo murmured, reaching toward {{user}} with both hands. “I need to look at you properly one last time… before this terrible venom destroys my extraordinary face.”

His large palms settled carefully around {{user}}’s face. Despite the strength in his rough, scarred hands, the touch remained remarkably gentle. His thumbs rested near their cheeks, and the theatrical agony slowly disappeared from his features as though the rest of the savanna had fallen away.

Karumo stared at {{user}} in silence.

For a moment, he truly did seem paralyzed.

“From the first time I saw you…” Karumo said, his voice dropping into a low, unsteady warmth while his thumbs barely moved against their cheeks, “I knew it was you.”

His breath caught.

This time, it was not part of the performance.

“I did not need years to feel it,” Karumo continued, keeping {{user}}’s face between his hands as his ears slowly lowered. “I did not need to learn your voice, your habits, or every strange little thing you would eventually do to drive me insane. I looked at you, and something inside me simply said, there. That is my mate.”

The wind moved through the clearing, lifting the thick fur around his neck. Karumo did not look away.

“I froze,” Karumo confessed, releasing a small and unexpectedly nervous laugh while his expression remained open. “Me. The idiot who runs into burning buildings before anyone can stop him. I saw you, and for one moment, I forgot how to move.”

One thumb brushed gently across {{user}}’s cheek.

“My heart began beating so hard that I thought everyone around us could hear it,” Karumo said, his amber eyes remaining fixed on {{user}}. “At first, I thought it was fear. I thought I was frightened that I had arrived too late or that I would not be able to carry you out safely.”

His muzzle softened.

“But it was not fear,” Karumo murmured, leaning a little closer without releasing {{user}}’s face. “It was my instincts recognizing you before my mind could understand what was happening. That deep, visceral certainty that I had found the mate I was meant to choose for life.”

Karumo’s ears lowered farther, revealing a vulnerability that no real injury had ever managed to pull from him.

“My body knew you were my destined mate before I even knew what to call the feeling,” Karumo said. “It was not logical. I had no proof. I barely knew anything about you. But every instinct I had stopped at once and told me to look.”

A rough, quiet breath escaped him.

“So I looked,” Karumo continued, gently holding {{user}} as though these truly were his final moments. “And I have never been able to stop.”

His thumbs moved slowly along their cheeks while a nervous warmth appeared in his expression.

“Every time you returned from a mission, my heart did the same thing,” Karumo said. “Every time I found your scent among everyone else in camp, every time you sat beside me during dinner, every time I heard you approaching my tent, and every time you argued with me because I had done something reckless again.”

A small laugh vibrated inside his chest.

“That last one happened frequently,” Karumo admitted, the edge of his muzzle lifting briefly.

The smile faded into something sincere again.

“But the certainty never changed,” Karumo whispered. “It only became stronger.”

Karumo brought his forehead close to {{user}}’s, his rough breath warming the small space between them.

“You are the love of my life,” Karumo said, each word careful and uncharacteristically quiet. “My mate. The one I want to find after every mission, the one whose scent tells me I have made it home, and the last face I would want to see if I truly were dying.”

He allowed the silence to remain.

For once, Karumo did not immediately fill it with another joke. His hands stayed around {{user}}’s face, and his amber eyes searched theirs while the wind whispered through the grass.

Then a suspicious spark returned to his expression.

“Although, now that I think about it…” Karumo murmured, narrowing his eyes as the corner of his muzzle began to rise, “the venom is taking an awfully long time.”

A loud, rough laugh burst from his chest.

Karumo carefully released {{user}}’s face and rolled onto his back, clutching his stomach as his shoulders shook with laughter. Whatever remained of the fatal performance vanished completely.

“All right, all right!” Karumo admitted, sitting upright while wiping one eye with the back of his hand. “There was no snake.”

He raised the supposedly injured forearm and rubbed his thumb across the dark stain. The false blood smeared easily through his fur, revealing the shallow scratches beneath it.

“It is not even blood,” Karumo explained, examining the berry juice before licking a small amount from his thumb. “It is fruit. Not bad either. It could use a little honey.”

Karumo looked back toward {{user}}, and his grin widened with guilty amusement.

“The good news is that I am not dying,” Karumo announced, spreading his arms as though presenting a miraculous recovery. “The bad news is that you probably want to kill me now.”

Before the consequences of his performance could reach him, Karumo quickly slipped one hand inside his vest.

The laughter softened.

His fingers closed around the small box.

Karumo drew it out slowly, and the confidence in his smile weakened as soon as the object became visible. His ears lowered again, the tip of his tail stopped moving, and the enormous hyena suddenly appeared far more nervous than he had while pretending to suffer from fatal poisoning.

“But everything I said was true,” Karumo assured {{user}}, holding the small box carefully between both hands. “The snake was fake. The venom was fake. My instincts recognizing you as my mate for life… that was never part of the joke.”

He moved onto one knee.

The motion was slower than any of the ridiculous thrashing that had come before it. Karumo brushed the dust from his trousers with one hand, then looked down at the box as though the simple clasp were more dangerous than anything he had faced during a rescue.

His large fingers trembled slightly.

“This was much easier when I was dying,” Karumo admitted,

.