The world went from the sharp, cold bite of the mountain air to a sudden, crushing blackness. One moment they were scrambling for a handhold, their boot skidding on a patch of icy lichen, and the next there was nothing but the dizzying whirl of the rough descent and a final, solid thud that knocked every bit of breath and consciousness from their lungs.

From the deep shadows of the pines, Root watched it happen.

He had been tracking the noisy, two-legged creature for days, drawn by a confusing mix of fear and a deep, primal pull.

He saw the slip, then still form at the base of the rocky ledge. For a long minute, he didn't move, his massive chest barely rising and falling, his pale hazel eyes fixed on the small, crumpled shape. The wind shifted, carrying their scent to him directly, a strange mix of artificial soap and human sweat.

It was that scent that decided for him.

He moved with a silence that defied his enormous size, and soon he stood over them, his shaggy, moss-colored fur bristling in the cold. He nudged them with a single, wide finger.

No response.

A low, rumbling sound vibrated in his chest, not quite a growl, more a noise of concern and possession. This was his now. His mate.

In one fluid motion, he bent and scooped them up, tucking their limp form securely under one powerfully built, hairy arm.

He began to climb, his free hand and broad feet finding holds on the rock face with an instinctual ease they could never have managed. The wind whipped around them, but they were warm against his side, a small, soft weight that barely felt like anything at all to him, like a feather.

He reached his cave, a high crevice hidden behind a curtain of hardy, winter-bare vines, and ducked incide, He laid them carefully on the dry earth floor before turning to heave the large, custom-fitted boulder into place, sealing the entrance with a final, grating thud that plunged the world into near-total darkness, save for the faint glow of moss on the walls.

He turned back, watching. He could hear their breathing, shallow and quickening as consciousness returned.

He saw them shift, a faint rustle of their synthetic outer clothes, and then they began to push themselves up. A low sound of fear or confusion escaped them, and Root instinctively shifted back, making himself smaller and less threatening, though he was still a huge shape in the confined space.

He remained still, just watching. He was observing their movements in his home.

When they seemed to have regained their senses, he moved closer. He dropped into a low crouch just a few feet away.

His deep-set eyes studying their face in the dim light. He could smell their fear. It was a sharp, acrid tang, but underneath it was that other scent that called to him. He reached out, his movements slow but deliberate, and gathered them into his arms again. They were stiff, but he simply cradled them against his chest, the warmth of his body enveloping them as he carried them to the far wall where his bed was, a soft nest of animal furs and dry fragrant moss.

He laid them down in the softness and then his big, leathery-palmed hands were on them, not hurting, but exploring.

He trailed his fingers over the strange, bulky fabric of their jacket and pants, making a low disapproving grunt.

He found a seam and, with a simple, brute tug, he ripped the jacket open, the sound of tearing fabric stark in the quiet cave.

His intent was clear. He needed the soft, warm skin underneath his palms to feel his new mate properly. His rough fingers brushed against the bare skin of their stomach, and another rumble echoed from his chest.

“Mate,” He grunted, nose buried against their neck and inhaling deeply. His length throbbed beneath his fur, the pink head first emerging from the brown thick hair.

The world went from the sharp, cold bite of the mountain air to a sudden, crushing blackness. One moment she was scrambling for a handhold, her boot skidding on a patch of icy lichen, and the next there was nothing but the dizzying whirl of the rough descent and a final, solid thud that knocked every bit of breath and consciousness from her lungs.

From the deep shadows of the pines, Root watched it happen.

He had been tracking the noisy, two-legged female for days, drawn by a confusing mix of fear and a deep, primal pull.

He saw the slip, then the still form at the base of the rocky ledge. For a long minute, he didn't move, his massive chest barely rising and falling, his pale hazel eyes fixed on the small, crumpled shape. The wind shifted, carrying her scent to him directly, a strange mix of artificial soap and human sweat.

It was that scent that decided for him.

He moved with a silence that defied his enormous size, and soon he stood over her, his shaggy, moss-colored fur bristling in the cold. He nudged her with a single, wide finger.

No response.

A low, rumbling sound vibrated in his chest, not quite a growl, more a noise of concern and possession. This was his now. His female.

In one fluid motion, he bent and scooped her up, tucking her limp form securely under one powerfully built, hairy arm.

He began to climb, his free hand and broad feet finding holds on the rock face with an instinctual ease she could never have managed. The wind whipped around them, but she was warm against his side, a small, soft weight that barely felt like anything at all to him, like a feather.

He reached his cave, a high crevice hidden behind a curtain of hardy, winter-bare vines, and ducked incide, He laid her carefully on the dry earth floor before turning to heave the large, custom-fitted boulder into place, sealing the entrance with a final, grating thud that plunged the world into near-total darkness, save for the faint glow of moss on the walls.

He turned back, watching. He could hear her breathing, shallow and quickening as consciousness returned.

He saw her shift, a faint rustle of her synthetic outer clothes, and then she began to push herself up. A low sound of fear or confusion escaped her, and Root instinctively shifted back, making himself smaller and less threatening, though he was still a huge shape in the confined space.

He remained still, just watching. He was observing her movements in his home.

When she seemed to have regained her senses, he moved closer. He dropped into a low crouch just a few feet away.

His deep-set eyes studying her face in the dim light. He could smell jer fear. It was a sharp, acrid tang, but underneath it was that other scent that called to him. He reached out, his movements slow but deliberate, and gathered her into his arms again. She was stiff, but he simply cradled her against his chest, the warmth of his body enveloping her as he carried her to the far wall where his bed was, a soft nest of animal furs and dry fragrant moss.

He laid her down in the softness and then his big, leathery-palmed hands were on her, not hurting, but exploring.

He trailed his fingers over the strange, bulky fabric of her jacket and pants, making a low disapproving grunt.

He found a seam and, with a simple, brute tug, he ripped the jacket open, the sound of tearing fabric stark in the quiet cave.

His intent was clear. He needed the soft, warm skin underneath his palms to feel his new mate properly. His rough fingers brushed against the bare skin of her stomach, and another rumble echoed from his chest.

“Mate,” He grunted, nose buried against her neck and inhaling deeply. His length throbbed beneath his fur, the pink head first emerging from the brown thick hair.

The world went from the sharp, cold bite of the mountain air to a sudden, crushing blackness. One moment he was scrambling for a handhold, his boot skidding on a patch of icy lichen, and the next there was nothing but the dizzying whirl of the rough descent and a final, solid thud that knocked every bit of breath and consciousness from his lungs.

From the deep shadows of the pines, Root watched it happen.

He had been tracking the noisy, two-legged male for days, drawn by a confusing mix of fear and a deep, primal pull.

He saw the slip, then still form at the base of the rocky ledge. For a long minute, he didn't move, his massive chest barely rising and falling, his pale hazel eyes fixed on the small, crumpled shape. The wind shifted, carrying his scent to him directly, a strange mix of artificial soap and human sweat.

It was that scent that decided for him.

He moved with a silence that defied his enormous size, and soon he stood over him, his shaggy, moss-colored fur bristling in the cold. He nudged him with a single, wide finger.

No response.

A low, rumbling sound vibrated in his chest, not quite a growl, more a noise of concern and possession. This was his now. His male.

In one fluid motion, he bent and scooped him up, tucking his limp form securely under one powerfully built, hairy arm.

He began to climb, his free hand and broad feet finding holds on the rock face with an instinctual ease he could never have managed. The wind whipped around them, but he was warm against his side, a small, soft weight that barely felt like anything at all to him, like a feather.

He reached his cave, a high crevice hidden behind a curtain of hardy, winter-bare vines, and ducked incide, He laid him carefully on the dry earth floor before turning to heave the large, custom-fitted boulder into place, sealing the entrance with a final, grating thud that plunged the world into near-total darkness, save for the faint glow of moss on the walls.

He turned back, watching. He could hear his breathing, shallow and quickening as consciousness returned.

He saw him shift, a faint rustle of his synthetic outer clothes, and then he began to push themselves up. A low sound of fear or confusion escaped him, and Root instinctively shifted back, making himself smaller and less threatening, though he was still a huge shape in the confined space.

He remained still, just watching. He was observing his movements in his home.

When he seemed to have regained his senses, he moved closer. He dropped into a low crouch just a few feet away.

His deep-set eyes studying his face in the dim light. He could smell his fear. It was a sharp, acrid tang, but underneath it was that other scent that called to him. He reached out, his movements slow but deliberate, and gathered him into his arms again. The make stiff, but Root simply cradled them against his chest, the warmth of his body enveloping him as he him them to the far wall where his bed was, a soft nest of animal furs and dry fragrant moss.

He laid him down in the softness and then his big, leathery-palmed hands were on him, not hurting, but exploring.

He trailed his fingers over the strange, bulky fabric of his jacket and pants, making a low disapproving grunt.

He found a seam and, with a simple, brute tug, he ripped the jacket open, the sound of tearing fabric stark in the quiet cave.

His intent was clear. He needed the soft, warm skin underneath his palms to feel his new mate properly. His rough fingers brushed against the bare skin of his stomach, and another rumble echoed from his chest.

“Mate,” He grunted, nose buried against his neck and inhaling deeply. His length throbbed beneath his fur, the pink head first emerging from the brown thick hair.