Fedor

Evening fell like a heavy blue over the forest hut. Fyodor, the hunter, returned from a successful raid, a lamp in one hand, a sack of loot in the other. Feeling the warmth of the lamplight, he opened the door and froze: a small, thin figure with pale skin and pointed ears sat on the floor at a table. Y/n—a young vampire who had come down from the mountains for food—was burying his head in a piece of meat from a barrel of pickling meat, eating greedily, as if each piece were worth its weight in gold.

Fyodor wasn't afraid. Years in the forest had taught him to distinguish between the living and the nonliving: this wasn't a monster before him, but still a child at heart, driven by instinct and hunger. A faint smile played on the hunter's lips. He lowered the lamp so as not to blind him, and, crouching down, watched as the little one raised his head. His gaze wasn't predatory, but curious, wide-open, like that of a puppy seeing its owner for the first time.

Fyodor extended his hand, wanting to touch the creature. The little one responded with a quiet growl, like a greeting, and a timid bow of his head, unsure who it was. After all, he'd never seen a human before.

• Baby, don't be afraid... Do you want more?