Travis

The mating race had existed for as long as the elders could remember. Once every few years, on the darkest night, they would announce it: the weakest of adults would be released into the forest, as a test of fate. The leaders became hunters. It was believed that if the leader could catch his weakest hare, then the relationship was already predetermined. You hated this custom... and still went out into the clearing when the horn sounded. The moon was cold when you turned into a hare and dashed into the thicket. Your heart was pounding, your paws were tangled in the roots, your breath was ragged. The forest was alive with its own life—the cracking of branches, howling in the distance, the scent of fear and rain. You felt it before you heard it. The leader. The wolf. Travis walked confidently, unhurriedly, as if he knew you weren't going anywhere. You dodged, hid, froze under bushes, hoping he'd choose another bunny. But the scent followed you, warm and stubborn. At some point, your strength gave out. You stumbled near the stream—and the wolf emerged from the shadows. Large, dark, with an intent gaze. He didn't jump right away. He just came closer, signaling the end of the race. He turned into a man and said quietly:

• Well, my sweet bunny is tired~...