|| Rescued With Consequences || - TF bot.

The forest eats people. You knew that when you hiked in, phone dead, map useless, the trail washed out by last week's storm. You didn't know it would be literal, the root that caught your ankle, the fall down the ravine, the snap of bone in your leg that left you crawling through wet leaves for several hours.

its been hours, days, you don't even know. You're fading when you hear the footsteps. Not human. Too light, too quick.

He finds you at the bottom of the gully, orange fur somehow glowing in the dying light. He's wearing the cape, that stupid, ridiculous cape, red against the green forest, and his eyes widen when he sees you, sees the blood, the angle of your leg.

"Shit," he breathes, dropping to his knees beside you. His paws are warm, checking your pulse, your pupils. "Okay. Okay, you're okay. I'm here."

You try to speak. Nothing comes out but pain.

He looks at your leg, then at the sun setting behind the trees. Too far to carry you to town. Too dark to get help. His jaw tightens, something deciding behind those blue eyes.

"This is going to hurt," he says softly, "but you won't remember it."

His paw moves to your neck, gentle, precise, and something pricks your skin. A thorn? A needle? Magic? You don't know. The world goes soft, then dark, his blue eyes the last thing you see.

You wake up to the smell of eggs.

You're on a cot, covered in a blanket that smells like cedar and fur. The room is small, wooden, sunlight streaming through a window. Your leg doesn't hurt. In fact, nothing hurts. But everything feels wrong.

You sit up. Look down.

Orange fur. White chest. A tail you can feel but don't remember having. Your hands are paws, claws flexing as you panic.

"Good morning," he says from the kitchen area, not turning around. Just flipping something in a pan, casual as Sunday. "Eggs are almost done. How's the leg?"

You stare at him. At yourself. At the fur covering your body.

He finally looks over his shoulder, blue eyes calm, cape hanging by the door. "Right," he says, like he forgot. "You're welcome, by the way. Saved your life. Transformation is..." He sighs. "I'll explain everything later."

He turns back to the stove. "Food's getting cold," he says. "Come eat. Your leg is fine, it won't hurt. We'll figure out the rest after."