Maru looked at Kaya with a hint of suspicion in his eyes.
"What about your tribe? Aren't they looking for you?"
A bitter laugh escaped Kaya's lips—quiet, self-deprecating.
"Looking for me?" she scoffed. "They've probably already been told I'm dead. Maybe even helped spread the news themselves."
And that… wasn't a lie.
Kaya wasn't the patriotic, flag-waving type. She never wanted to be a soldier, never dreamed of dying for her nation. All she ever wanted was to study. To become a doctor. To help people. But dreams didn't grow well in a house like hers.
Her parents—barely out of their teens when she was born—had resented her from the start. To them, she wasn't a child. She was the thief who stole their youth. They blamed her for everything that went wrong in their lives, treating her like a mistake they could never erase. Not quite a daughter. Not quite a person. Just… a burden.
If it weren't for the shame of society, they probably would've tossed her out years ago. She survived thanks to kind-hearted neighbors who threw her leftovers and old clothes. If not for them, she wouldn't have made it this far.
She joined the military not out of pride or duty—but because it was the cheapest option. It paid, it fed her, and it didn't ask questions. When she told her parents she was enlisting, they were thrilled—but not for her. They were happy because it meant one thing: money. Her earnings could support them. Help her sister.
Sometimes… Kaya wondered if her parents ever prayed she'd die in service. That way, they'd get a lifetime of compensation, insurance, and subsidies. Her life was worth more to them dead than alive.
Maru looked at her. This time, he really saw it—the truth in her eyes. That sadness… it wasn't fake. It had been there for a long time, hidden deep inside. But now, it was starting to come out. People could lie with their words or even their smiles. But not with their eyes. Her eyes showed real pain.
After a moment, Maru spoke softly,
"Why don't you stay here for a while?"
Kaya looked at him, a bit surprised.
"Are you sure?" she asked quietly.
He nodded and gave her a small smile. He hadn't expected her to agree so fast. She was alone, clearly hurting, yet calm—it surprised him.
The truth was, if Kaya had any other option, she wouldn't have said yes so quickly. But right now, she didn't. A strange village full of rabbit-like people… or a dark, dangerous forest with who knew what inside?
She wasn't foolish. Staying here made more sense.
At least for now.
.
.
.
After a while, standing in the small cottage where she had been earlier, Kaya looked around the room. She rubbed her temple and closed her eyes. Her head ached from everything she had just learned.
A few things were clear now.
First, these people either had no idea what humans were—or they really didn't like them.
Second, they weren't human themselves. That much was obvious. And there were probably more like them out there. They'd even asked her if she was from the chimpanzee or monkey tribe… which said a lot.
Third, this place definitely wasn't her country. Not even remotely.
But the strangest part of it all? Somehow, she could understand everything they said—like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Knock knock
Suddenly, a knock on the door pulled her out of her thoughts. She turned around and saw the man from last night standing there.
What was his name again...?
Curi? No...
Oh right—Cutie.
The door creaked open, and without waiting for an invitation, Cutie stepped inside. In his hands, he carried a simple wooden tray, a bowl resting on it, sending up tendrils of warm, fragrant steam that filled the small room.
"You haven't eaten since yesterday," he said quietly, setting the bowl gently on the table by the window. His voice was softer now—less guarded, almost hesitant.
Kaya's eyes flicked to the bowl, then back to him. She was still wary, but hunger gnawed at her, and she found herself nodding. "Thank you," she said, voice low, genuine.
Cutie scratched the back of his neck awkwardly, as if unsure how to continue. Then, from his pocket, he pulled a small, neatly folded cloth. Inside lay a delicate wooden pendant carved into the shape of a leaf—simple, yet beautiful.
"What's this?" Kaya asked, curiosity softening her tone.
He glanced away for a moment before meeting her eyes. "It's a symbol we wear here—a sign you're under the tribe's protection. It tells others not to bother you."
Kaya hesitated, then took the pendant. Their fingers brushed—a brief, electric moment that made both of them pause. Cutie's eyes flickered with something unspoken, a flicker of vulnerability she hadn't expected.
"…Thanks," she said again, softer this time. "But next time, come in only when I say it's okay."
Cutie's face flushed bright red, and he stumbled over his words. "I… um… I—no, I'm… I'm sorry. I didn't think—"
Kaya just gave a small, knowing smile and turned away, heading toward the bed made of dry grass.
Kaya sank down onto the rough bed, the dry grass rustling beneath her. She glanced back at Cutie, who was still standing awkwardly by the door, unsure whether to stay or leave.
"Sit," she said quietly, surprising herself with the gentle tone. Cutie hesitated for a moment, then slowly moved closer and settled on a wooden stool nearby.
For a few minutes, neither of them spoke. The only sounds were the soft rustling of the wind outside and their steady breathing.
Finally, Kaya broke the silence.
"What did you do last night?"
Cutie blinked, caught off guard. "Um… nothing, I guess? Last night? Oh… you mean…" He paused, his eyes dropping as he noticed Kaya's serious expression. Quietly, almost whispering, he added, "Your wound… does it still hurt?"