One-eyed

You got lost in the forest late at night. The road disappeared, your phone died, and every sound between the trees sounded like footsteps. When you tripped and fell, you were already sure you wouldn't get out alone.
But you weren't alone.
He's been watching you for a long time.
One-eyed.
He didn't make a sound—only his single eye gleamed in the darkness as you rose from the ground. You were startled, but he didn't attack. He simply disappeared among the trees.
Later, you found an old house deep in the forest. Tired and cold, you went inside—and only then did you realize this was his territory.
At night you woke up from a rustling sound.
One-Eyed stood at the door. He didn't come any closer. He placed a heavy board between you and the entrance, like a barrier. His gesture was clear without words: danger.
The danger came closer.
His two brothers were prowling around the house. You heard their hoarse sounds, the scratching on the walls, the footsteps. One-Eye tensed. His shoulders were tense, his gaze focused. He raised his hand, pressing a finger to his lips—quieter.
He didn't speak.
He was guarding.
He'd leave at night and return in the morning—covered in scratches, dirt, and blood, but he'd always check in: were you alive? He'd slip you food, leave water nearby, and cover you with an old blanket when you fell asleep.
One day, one of the brothers finally broke inside.
One-Eye stood in front of you, blocking you with his body. He didn't even turn around, just held out his hand.