Two months had passed since the arrival of autumn, and the farm had settled into a comforting rhythm. The leaves, now a vibrant tapestry of yellow and red, fell gently to the ground, covering the forest floor in a beautiful shade of crimson. Despite the chill in the air, life on the farm continued with its own steady pulse.
In one corner of the farm, two children stood with bows in hand, aiming at targets made of hay. The arrows sang as they were released, each aiming to hit the red dot in a friendly competition of skill.
Nearby, a young girl sat knitting yarn into cloth. Beside her, the woman who was like a mother to her worked with impressive speed and dexterity, the two of them deeply focused on their task. The rhythmic movement of their hands was almost hypnotic, a dance of threads and needles.
Another young girl tended to the crops, her small hands moving carefully under the guidance of a two-meter giant. The giant patiently explained the different plants, and the girl listened attentively, soaking up every bit of knowledge he imparted.
Around them, children ran an obstacle course, their feet crunching on the fallen leaves. Some did pull-ups on the now leafless branches of trees, their breath visible in the cool air. Others knelt in prayer by two small trees, their heads bowed in quiet reverence. A few practiced with slings, aiming at planks of wood set up as targets. One child punched a wooden dummy, dodging its retaliatory swings with impressive agility.
What was eye-catching about the children was their clothes. They all wore long-sleeved tunics that reached their knees. Gone were the rags they once wore; now they were dressed in tunics. Though all the tunics looked the same at first glance—long white garments reaching their knees with strings at their waists that served as belts and kept their little pocket bags by their sides—a closer inspection revealed the skill of the tailor who made them. Each tunic had a unique knitting pattern, making each one special.
The strings attached to their waists were actually slings, and the children practicing with these slings used the rocks they had collected along the way as ammunition, stored in their little bags.
The creator of these tunics sat with her apprentice, a young girl named Rhapso, beside her. A huge yarn ball rested nearby, and in her hands was a large rectangular cloth that flowed down her feet. The sight of her hands weaving the cloth was nothing short of hypnotizing. This woman, with blue eyes and short, curly black hair, occasionally glanced at her adopted children before returning to her work. Her white dress, which she had knitted herself, gently conformed to her body. Hidden within this dress were a bunch of pockets in which she kept her tools.
As she worked, a two-meter-tall man walked towards the porch, passing by her with a warm smile. She stood up and kissed him on the cheek. The man blushed and retaliated by kissing her back, his short white beard tickling her and making her giggle.
"Aren't you cold, Pacy?" said the woman, her eyes twinkling with affection.
"No... but the children might be. That's why Demy and I plan to cook something hot... like a scorpion hot pot."
"Those are river lobsters, Pacy," Merina replied, rolling her eyes with a playful smile.
"My mom and dad called them river scorpions, though," Pacificus explained.
"No, they are—" She stopped and thought for a moment. "Huh... I guess they are."
The farm was a haven of activity and warmth, each person playing their part in the larger tapestry of life. The children continued their training, their laughter and determination filling the air.
Demeter sat by the fireplace, watching intently as Pacificus expertly handled the enormous river scorpion, which was, in truth, a giant lobster. Beside him, she mimicked his movements, her small hands doing their best to keep up with the large crustacean. The river scorpion was larger than a child but not quite as large as an adult—a formidable size nonetheless.
Pacificus deftly cut through the huge pincers and multiple legs of the river scorpion, removing its innards with practiced ease. Demeter followed suit, her eyes focused and determined as she chopped her own river scorpion. They worked in unison, the sound of their knives slicing through the thick shells a rhythmic backdrop to their labor.
Once the scorpions were prepared, they turned to the vegetables. Pacificus reached for the vines of a man-eating plant and its vibrant flowers. Beside these, a mandrake sat, its twisted root form looking almost sentient. They added some carrots and potatoes, both regular and giant varieties, as well as a selection of mushrooms—some enormous, others small and delicate.
A huge cauldron of boiling water bubbled over the fire, its heat sending waves of steam into the cool air. On a different flame, Pacificus cooked the giant river scorpion, its bright red shell contrasting sharply with the dull iron of the pan. The savory aroma filled the room, making Demeter's stomach growl in anticipation. Using the same pan, he then sautéed the carrots and potatoes, their edges caramelizing to a golden brown.
With the giant river scorpion now cooked, Pacificus carefully transferred it into the boiling cauldron, its shell crackling as it hit the hot water. Demeter handed him the mushrooms, which he tossed in with a practiced flick of the wrist, followed by the sautéed carrots and potatoes. The mixture of ingredients sizzled and steamed, creating a symphony of scents that promised a hearty, warming meal.
They then added some tomato jam to the broth, stirring it in until the rich red color melded with the other ingredients. The sweetness of the jam balanced the savory depth of the broth, adding a layer of complexity to the flavor profile. Next, they tossed in some leafy greens and other vegetables, the vibrant colors contrasting beautifully with the earthy tones of the soup.
Pacificus ladled a small amount of the broth into a wooden spoon, blowing on it gently before taking a sip. His eyes lit up with approval, and he handed the spoon to Demeter. She tasted it as well, nodding in agreement. It was good, but it needed a little more.
Reaching into his pouches, Pacificus pulled out a selection of spices and sauces. A pinch of salt, a dash of pepper, and a sprinkle of herbs—each addition was carefully measured and mixed into the bubbling cauldron. They added a splash of soy sauce for umami, a touch of honey for sweetness, and a hint of chili paste for a gentle kick of heat.
Demeter watched closely, mimicking his movements as he showed her how to balance the flavors. "Remember," he said, "cooking is about finding harmony. Each ingredient should complement the others, not overpower them."
She nodded, absorbing the lesson. Together, they tasted the broth again, their faces breaking into satisfied smiles. It was perfect.
Outside, under the canopy of stars and the gentle light of the two moons, all the children gathered around the fire, their eyes gleaming with anticipation. The flickering flames cast a warm, golden glow on their eager faces, creating a cozy, inviting atmosphere.
Demeter and Pacificus began ladling the rich, aromatic stew into wooden bowls that Pacificus had crafted himself. Each bowl was beautifully carved. However, there was one small problem—the bowls were enormous, made to Pacificus's standards and more suited to his large hands than to those of the small children.
The children, though, didn't seem to mind. They clutched the oversized bowls with both hands, their faces lighting up with delight as they peered into the hearty stew. The steam rising from the bowls carried the savory scents of the giant river scorpion, mushrooms, carrots, and potatoes, making their mouths water.
Their appetites were enormous, fueled by their exercises and play. They eagerly devoured the stew, relishing every bite. The nutrients and energy provided by the hearty meal were essential for their growing bodies and active lifestyle.
As the children ate, a surprise arrived. Snowflakes began to fall slowly from the cloudy sky, drifting gently down like tiny stars. The first flakes landed softly on their heads and shoulders, causing a ripple of excitement and wonder among them.
"It's snowing!" Artemis exclaimed, holding out her hand to catch a flake.
The others quickly followed suit, their faces upturned, eyes wide with amazement as they watched the delicate snowflakes descend. The firelight flickered against the backdrop of falling snow.
Demeter and Pacificus paused, watching the children with smiles on their faces. The snowfall added an unexpected layer of beauty and joy to their day, enhancing the already warm and festive atmosphere. The combination of hearty food, cozy fire, and the gentle snowfall created a perfect moment of simple happiness.
The children continued to eat, their bowls now adorned with a few delicate snowflakes, adding to their delight. They laughed and chattered, sharing their excitement about the first snow of the season while the snowflakes seemed to dance in the air.
As the meal came to a close, the children, now full and content, gathered closer to the fire, warming their hands and enjoying the cozy heat. The snow continued to fall, blanketing the ground in a thin, pristine layer. The sight of the snow-covered earth and the warmth of the fire created a sense of peace and contentment among the group.
"Alright, everyone," Pacificus called out, his voice warm and gentle, yet firm. "You should not come to this place during winter."
"What? Why?" a chorus of voices responded, filled with curiosity and a touch of disappointment.
"It's too cold... winter is starting. Don't underestimate the cold," Pacificus explained, his tone serious but caring.
"Okay," the children replied in unison, understanding the concern in his voice.
The children went out early that day, bundled up against the cold. They all rode in the cart that Pacificus was pulling, his strong arms effortlessly handling the weight. Laughter and chatter filled the air as they made their way back.
But before they went on their way back to the orphanage, Pacificus gave the three children gifts.
The three children understood the significance of these gifts. They knew it meant they should not stop training, even as winter approached. Their eyes sparkled with determination and gratitude.
Artemis and Apollo marveled at their bows, their eyes wide with excitement. The bows were taller than them, promising many hours of practice. Though they knew it would be a while before they could fully draw them, the challenge only fueled their eagerness. They exchanged determined glances, silently vowing to grow into their new weapons.
Hyakinthos received a heavy, sturdy punching bag, and a grin spread across his face. He could already feel the challenge it presented and was eager to start training with it. The weight of the bag was a promise of hard work and improvement, and he welcomed it wholeheartedly.
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The cart arrived in front of the orphanage, and the children hopped out, rushing back to the warmth and familiarity of their home. The orphanage had grown, now housing three more infants being cared for by both young and old residents. The building itself had expanded upwards, boasting a new second floor to accommodate the growing number of children.
Pacificus began unloading the cart, carrying barrels full of yarn, leather, pelts, hardtacks, and pemmican. The children eagerly pitched in, their combined strength making light work of the heavy barrels. Their teamwork was a testament to their growing strength and unity.
Merina was seen talking to her mother, Leto, near the entrance. Their conversation seemed serious, yet comforting. Pacificus caught sight of Leto hugging her daughter, a moment of maternal warmth and support.
After the hug, Merina approached Pacificus, wrapping her arms around his. The gesture was tender and full of affection, making his heart swell with emotion.
Leto and Lelantos observed the couple, their faces reflecting approval and quiet joy. They nodded at Pacificus and Merina, signaling their blessing for the couple.
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Hand in hand, Pacificus and Merina left the orphanage, stepping into the softly falling snow. The world around them was serene, the snowflakes dancing in the air as they walked side by side.
"Wait, where are they going?" asked Artemis, her eyes wide with curiosity. "Why is Mother Merina going with Big Brother Pacificus? I want to go too."
Before she could run towards them, two hands gently grabbed her shoulders.
"You’re too slow, sis," Apollo said with a playful smirk.
Hyakinthos added with a grin, "You’re the only one who doesn’t know at this point, Arty."
Artemis looked between her two brothers, a mix of confusion and curiosity on her face. "Know what?" she asked, her brow furrowing.
"You actually don't know?" Hyakinthos said, dumbfounded.
"Seriously, sis? They've been kissing and hugging each other behind our backs. Even Rhapso knows," Apollo added with a smirk.
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"Ohhh... They are courting each other? Since when?" Artemis asked, her eyes widening with realization.
"Since forever, it feels like," Hyakinthos replied, shaking his head with a chuckle. "Maybe you're too busy with your training to notice."
Artemis glanced back at the retreating figures of Pacificus and Merina, a soft smile spreading across her face. "I guess I’ve been a little distracted."
"Or simply clueless" Apollo said. "But it’s nice, isn’t it? Seeing them happy together."
Artemis nodded, feeling a warm sense of contentment. "Yeah, it is. They deserve to be happy."
The three siblings watched the couple walk away, their hearts light and their spirits lifted, knowing that their family was growing in love and happiness.
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Near the Ever Resting Forest, the couple sat down on a log, chosen for its view of the river. It was a peaceful spot, with the gentle sound of the water flowing past, reflecting the light of the setting sun. Yet, hanging near the Ever Resting Forest was not without its dangers. The forest was known for the monsters that occasionally wandered out to drink from the river.
This danger was precisely why Pacificus and Merina chose this spot. The Ever Resting River, a small part of the larger river, provided a natural barrier between them and the forest. They could observe the creatures that came to the river without being too close to the peril that lurked within the woods. A fallen tree served as a natural bridge, connecting the forest to their side of the river, adding to the thrill and the beauty of the place.
The riverbank was quiet, save for the occasional rustle of leaves and the distant calls of wildlife. The air was cool, and the snow that had begun to fall earlier continued to drift down, covering the ground in a thin, sparkling layer.
But right now, none of it mattered for the couple. For Pacificus and Merina, the only thing that mattered and existed was the two of them. It was as if they were living in their own world, a bubble of peace and contentment that shielded them from the dangers of the forest.
"My father would always say that my grandfather was a dwarf. But my mom would say that was impossible because he is tall and he can't grow a beard," Pacificus mused, a playful smile on his lips.
"I believe her, actually. Want to know why, Pacy?" Merina replied, her eyes sparkling with mischief.
"Why, Rina?"
"Well, if your grandfather was a dwarf, then that makes your dad a hybrid. Hybrids are infertile, Pacy."
"Wait... they are?"
"Yes... you didn't know?"
"No, I didn't... so that's why Mom doesn't believe that my grandfather was a dwarf... that makes so much sense."
The two of them chuckled as they held hands, their shoulders touching, drawing comfort from each other's presence.
"Pacy, look," Merina said suddenly, her voice filled with excitement.
She pointed at a creature emerging from the forest. It was a magnificent beast shaped like a huge horse, standing two and a half meters at the shoulder. Its long neck was covered by a brilliant mane, and its head resembled more of a deer than a horse, thanks to the single magnificent horn on its head. It had a long tail covered with fur, claws instead of hooves, and scales instead of skin. The creature moved gracefully, accompanied by its child—a single fawn that looked like a smaller version of itself but lacked a horn. The pair walked cautiously toward the river and began to drink.
"It's a Kirin and her fawn," Merina said with awe.
"They are beautiful, Rina," Pacificus agreed, his voice filled with wonder.
The sight of the Kirin and her fawn was breathtaking. The majestic creatures, with their shimmering scales and elegant movements, seemed almost otherworldly.
"My father used to ride one of those creatures," Pacificus remarked, his eyes still fixed on the fading figures of the Kirin and her fawn.
"Your parents bred Kirin?"
"Yes and no," Merina replied with a smile. "Kirins are hard to breed, and only the greatest warriors and the wealthiest farmers have them. My father simply found one on his hunting trip, and Mother domesticated it."
"That's amazing. I can't imagine doing that."
"Have you ever actually tried?"
"...No," Pacificus admitted.
Merina chuckled softly. "These beasts are actually a symbol of good luck for us. We are so lucky, Pacy."
"Really?"
"What do you mean by 'really'?"
"I see these magnificent creatures almost all the time, though... sometimes they eat my crops, especially the Barometz."
"What's with these Barometz? When can I see one?"
"When spring comes, you might see them bloom. I just planted them this winter. Their flowers are really pretty... and huge."
"Huh? Well, you do live near the Ever Resting Forest. How come I haven't seen them during my stay in your hut, though?"
"They usually come during spring and summer... especially summer."
"Oh... but now that I think of it... these Kirin... they look different from the ones from my homeland."
"What do you mean?"
"Well, for one... they are bigger than the ones from my birthplace, they also have hooves instead of claws... and their tails... Kirins don't have that long, dragon-like tail in my hometown. Their tails are like those of horses... much fluffier and longer, but they're still horse tails."
"That's probably because of domestication."
"My mother kept telling me about that skill... what was it?"
"Well, wild animals are usually more aggressive and terrifying... so we befriend them, and then we use a skill called 'domestication' so that their next children will evolve into a different species... well, it's still the same species but a domesticated one. It's a powerful skill, too. My mom used to tell me about farmers using the domestication skill so they could breed war animals."
"Oh... I don't quite understand."
"Yeah, it's really hard to explain," Pacificus agreed, smiling warmly at Merina.
Merina rested her head on Pacificus's shoulder, and he hugged her back. Together, they watched the mother Kirin and its fawn, their breaths forming small clouds in the cold air.
Suddenly, the bushes rustled with alarming speed, a blur in Merina's eyes. Instinctively, Pacificus pushed her behind the fallen tree they had been sitting on, shielding her with his body.
Hidden behind the fallen tree, Pacificus kept his arms protectively around Merina, ready to carry her if things went wrong. They peered over the edge, watching in tense silence.
A massive creature, as tall as a two-story building, emerged from the forest, charging toward the Kirin and her fawn. The beast had large, powerful legs, muscular arms, and a huge head with jaws that opened wide, revealing razor-sharp, serrated teeth as large as daggers.
The fawn lagged behind its mother. The predator, sensing an easier target, shifted its focus to the fawn. It lunged, jaws open wide, aiming to crush the fawn's neck. But the mother Kirin intervened, lowering her horn and charging, stabbing the predator in the shoulder.
The predator roared in pain. The mother Kirin slashed at the beast with her claws, leaving deep, bloody gashes in its tough, scaly hide. But the wounds weren't deep enough to stop the creature. It retaliated, sinking its teeth into the Kirin's magnificent neck.
Two roars and a cry echoed through the forest. The Kirin fought desperately, clawing at the predator's head and neck, but its scales were too tough. Pacificus and Merina watched in silent horror as the light in the Kirin's eyes began to fade.
"Oh no," Merina whispered, her hands covering her mouth.
The fawn cried out for its mother, a heartbreaking sound that pierced the cold air.
The predator looked at the fawn, as if considering whether to eat the child too. But it ignored the fawn, carrying its prey back into the forest. The fawn followed its deceased mother, but hesitated when it saw another predator—a smaller beast, the infant of its mother's killer. The baby with its small teeth and claws joyfully called to its mother as they disappeared into the forest.
The fawn, now helpless and alone, returned to the only spot where it could still smell its mother—the puddle of blood on the snow. It stood there, shivering and lost, as the snow continued to fall around it.
Pacificus and Merina's hearts ached for the orphaned fawn. Merina squeezed Pacificus's hand, tears welling in her eyes. "We have to do something," she whispered. "We can't leave the poor fawn alone."
Pacificus looked at Merina, then at the fawn. He remembered Merina's story—her father killed in the war, her mother dying in front of her while trying to protect her from bandits. The pain of losing one's parents was all too familiar to both of them. Now, looking at the fawn and at Merina, the scene tugged deeply at the strings of his heart.
"All right," Pacificus replied. "Let's kidnap the fawn."
"We are not kidnapping it! We are adopting it!"
"Shhh, keep your voice down, Rina."
"I'm sorry."
They both crawled towards the fallen tree that bridged them to the forest.
"Once we grab it, we run," Pacificus instructed.
"Yes," Merina agreed.
"I mean it, Rina. You must run as fast as you can."
"I will."
They crawled towards the tree bridge, even crawling while crossing it. They feared that the fawn would run away if it saw them.
Once they were near the grieving fawn, Pacificus whispered to Merina, "Stay here. If it comes towards you, grab it by the head."
"The head?"
"Yes."
"All right."
Pacificus slowly crawled towards the fawn from behind. He could see its back while it grieved for its mother. Cautiously, he stood up. The fawn's ears twitched, and it looked towards him.
"Greetings," he whispered.
The fawn immediately bolted. Using all his strength, Pacificus chased after it. The fawn was fast, but not fast enough, and it was heading towards Merina. When Merina saw the fawn coming her way, she remembered her father's words.
"If it has horns, grab it by the horns. When trying to capture or hunt an animal, you should always control the head. You can do this by grabbing their necks and covering their eyes."
The fawn ran towards her. She immediately appeared and grabbed the fawn's head, covering its eyes with her arms, and the fawn and her fell to the ground. Pacificus followed closely, grabbing the fawn by its body.
The fawn cried out.
"RUN, RINA!"
Merina followed Pacificus's instruction, and he followed behind her, keeping an eye on the Ever Resting Forest. Thankfully, nothing was coming out of the forest... well, at least not yet. The fawn cried as it was being taken, perhaps not yet understanding that it was being rescued by people who wanted to save it.
They crossed the bridge without anything bad happening to them.
The fawn cried as it was being taken away from the only memory of its parent. It tried to scratch and struggle against Pacificus. But it didn't have any claws yet, only hooves. The fawn also didn't have any horns since it was still too young. Its tail was strong but not strong enough to bother Pacificus. And Pacificus was strong... really strong. The fawn struggled but couldn't escape Pacificus's arms, even though it was using all its strength to get free.
"Pacy, I think you are hurting the fawn. You should hold the bottom too when holding a fawn."
"Oh, I'm sorry. I never had any experience with livestock."
Pacificus adjusted his grip, supporting the fawn from underneath. The fawn's struggling lessened slightly, though it still seemed confused and frightened.
Merina reached out and gently stroked the fawn's head, trying to calm it. The fawn retaliated by struggling again.
"Oh... it is still scared... you poor thing," Merina said softly.
"Let's put the young one in my home," Pacificus suggested.
"Good idea."
"Hey, Rina."
"Yes, Pacy?"
"What do Kirin eat exactly?"
"I've seen them eat fruits and vegetables," Merina replied.
"I also saw them eating other beasts."
"They eat meat?"
"Ye... yeah... well, to be more specific, I saw them eat corpses and small animals, but I've never seen them hunt beasts that are bigger than them."
"That's weird... Kirin in my birthland were believed to be herbivorous, loyal... and ferocious... but I never knew they could eat meat until now... wait a minute... they are ferocious, so they might have eaten some meat."
"Let's try to find out more when we get home. It feels so wrong to say it, but... I'm kind of happy. We have a chance to have a pet."
The fawn was still struggling and crying, its cries echoing through their surroundings.
"We have a long way to go before we have its trust, though," Merina replied as she tried to tie her handkerchief over the fawn's eyes. "H-hey, stop moving... Pacy, can you stop for a second? I'm trying to tie a blindfold on the fawn; maybe it will calm down."
"Oh, okay," Pacificus said, coming to a halt.
Merina carefully placed the handkerchief over the fawn's eyes and tied it gently but securely. The fawn's struggles seemed to lessen slightly, its cries becoming quieter.
"There, hopefully this helps," Merina said, patting the fawn gently. "Poor thing must be so scared and confused."
Pacificus resumed walking, this time more slowly to avoid jostling the fawn too much. "We'll take it step by step. At least it's safe now."
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Inside Pacificus's home, the fawn stood cornered in his room, the door closed, leaving it with nowhere to run.
"Let's see," said Pacificus, approaching the cornered fawn with a piece of cabbage in hand.
Merina sat on Pacificus's bed, watching the fawn with a mixture of concern and curiosity.
The fawn was visibly scared, its back pressed against the wall, unable to move away. As Pacificus moved the cabbage closer, the fawn tried to back away further until its head was also against the wall. Finally, the cabbage touched its mouth. The fawn sniffed the cabbage and took a hesitant bite. Merina's face lit up with a smile as she saw the fawn eating.
The fawn ate the cabbage until it was gone.
"Let's try the meat," Pacificus suggested.
He approached the fawn again, this time with a piece of pemmican. The fawn reacted similarly, pressing itself against the wall, trying to stay away from Pacificus while simultaneously sniffing the pemmican. Eventually, it took a tentative bite, then another.
"Oh," Merina exclaimed softly. "It does eat meat."
The fawn continued to eat the pemmican, its eyes darting nervously between Pacificus and Merina.
"I think we should feed it more," said Pacificus, concern evident in his voice.
"I agree," replied Merina.
The Kirin fawn, still confused and wary, found itself being fed a variety of foods by two pairs of hands. They offered vegetables, fruits, meat, and even flowers. Initially hesitant, the fawn soon began eating eagerly. It ate and ate.
Its belly grew round and full, and finally, the fawn let out a small burp. Moments later, its eyes drooped, and it curled up on the floor, falling into a deep sleep.
"It's so cute," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. "Do you think it'll be alright?"
"I hope so," Pacificus replied softly, his arm draped protectively around her shoulders. His touch was warm and reassuring, a silent promise of comfort amidst the flickering firelight.
Merina nestled closer to Pacificus, seeking solace in his embrace. "That fawn... it reminds me of myself, Pacy."
"Oh, Rina," Pacificus sighed, holding her tighter against him. As they sat together by the fire, the warmth seemed to thaw the chill of past sorrows that lingered in their hearts.
"My father perished in battle," Merina continued, her voice trembling slightly. "And my mother... she shielded me from arrows with her own body. I clung to her, helpless as she bled... It's a memory that still haunts me."
Pacificus listened in silence, his own memories echoing hers in shared sorrow. He understood the weight of loss, the ache of helplessness that lingers long after loved ones are gone.
"Life can be cruel," he finally murmured, his voice tinged with a mix of resignation and resilience.
"Indeed," Merina whispered, her eyes reflecting the flickering flames as they danced across the room. She felt a kinship with Pacificus in their shared pain.
"My father died slowly... I watched him grow weak as sickness consumed him... It was a horrible way to die," Pacificus said, holding Merina close as they both looked at the fawn. "My mother died in a war... I was lucky they returned her body to me, even though it was riddled with holes... Life can be so cruel."
Merina nodded silently, her grip on Pacificus tightening in understanding.
Pacificus and Merina locked eyes, each seeing their pain mirrored in the other.
"And yet," Pacificus continued, his voice reflective, "it can be so beautiful... Life is full of contradictions. It's chaotic yet somehow organized, ugly yet capable of profound beauty, ruthless yet merciful... Merina, that carnosaur that attacked the Kirin... I think I have more in common with that creature than with the Kirin."
Merina stared at Pacificus, a mix of intrigue and perhaps horror crossing her features.
"I kill to survive. I kill to eat. I hunt beasts in the forest for sustenance, and I plant crops to harvest them in the future... But in harvesting, I must also take life. I kill to live... I think the reason we grieve for our loved ones is because we understand the value of life, even though death is necessary for survival," he chuckled softly, pulling Merina closer. "Life is chaotic. It's as if she hates us and loves us at the same time."
Merina's gaze softened, moved by the depth of Pacificus's words.
"Pacy," she murmured softly, "I will love you for as long as I live... even beyond this body's time."
"I will love you, Rina," Pacificus replied, his voice steady and filled with sincerity, "even when my heart beats no more."
Their lips met in a tender embrace, the warmth of their affection palpable in the soft flicker of firelight that danced around them. Pacificus's hand gently cradled Merina's cheek, his touch both gentle and reassuring. The kiss spoke volumes of unspoken emotions, a culmination of shared pain, understanding, and newfound closeness.
They broke apart momentarily. Without words, they leaned in again, their second and third kisses lingering with a sweetness that spoke of comfort and reassurance.