Since that night, many seasons have passed. As the trees donned their flowery couture, flourished in the sun's warmth, basked in orange splashes before finally slumbering away in the snow, it signaled the end of the year. Giving way to a sleeping ermine, whose elongated body underwent two years of change, as they tiredly yawned.

In a nutshell, of all places.

Bristling his whiskers, Edward blinked from the comforts of his acorn shell, before stretching his arms outward. The air felt as cold as it could be, where the grasses and valleys were blanketed in snow. Heaps of icicles had already formed from the eaves of his makeshift hut, a home comprised of a corrugated panel, patchwork blankets, and leftover bits and bobs. As he stretched his long body from nose to tail, he let out another petulant yawn before shaking himself all over.

Before he nimbly jumped from the workbench and onto the floor below, where he sneakily rubbed his paws together.

"A new day calls for another round of collecting! Hehe, I wonder what it'll be like today…Maybe some more springs—Hmm, could be good for optimizing the propulsion. Or perhaps some corkscrew rush could work instead."Hopping out onto the snow, a thousand ideas sprang forth from each bounce, as the ice-white ermine soon found himself in a clearing. Behind him was the trail of little paw prints he made, while on the other side was the enclosing grotto of trees. Their gnarly branches shone silverish-gray against the dismal, pristine scenery, where even the sky was blotted with nimbostratus clouds.

Looks like everybody's still hibernating, Edward thought, looking around to see how tranquil everything was. The soft piles of snow dappling the few leaves there were, the frost lapping at the riverbank, and the red berries that showed scarlet against the white—he almost wished the haven was like this every day.

Not like the cacophony of woodland critters chatting away, or even the snide glances they paid when looking his way. After all, he was infamous around these parts, or so he'd say.

"Edward has finally come out of hiding! Everyone, run for your lives!" the ermine mocked out in the open, his paws raised skyward. Before he settled down on his hind legs, sighing. "I guess I don't even need to announce it to the world. Everyone's going to avoid me either way. Who else is a bigger menace than I?" he chuckled to himself, immersed in his melodramatic soliloquy—before he suddenly heard footsteps approaching.

"Who's there?!" With both fur and whiskers bristling, Edward cautiously surveyed his surroundings, looking for any signs of movement. There, he saw a lumbering shadow passing through the trees, dragging with them a disfigured mesh of hooved legs. The wretched stench of blood percolated through the air, making Edward scrunch his face in disgust. Cautiously slinking through the snow-covered undergrowth, he carefully crept closer, watching as the mysterious shadow tugged their spoils onto a sunbaked rock. As the bloodied elk lay before them, the creature lowered their head, seemingly deep in remorse.

"What is that guy even doing?" Edward wondered, scooting forward for a better look. They were one of the beasts that become prevalent in winter, whose thick coats and heavy paws equipped them with the necessary gear. With raven-tipped ears and a pentagonal beard, lynxes were one of the haven's most elusive residents.

"Looks like…they're mourning their prey? What good will that bring?" the ermine thought, his curiosity piqued. Before all of his fur stood up when he caught wind of a deep-seated growl.

"Who are you and what do you want?" the lynx asked in a low voice, his dilated pupils narrowing down at the shivering ermine.

"Wait a minute…You can speak with a human tongue?" Edward warily scampered out, his hind legs bracing him to run.

"Answering a question with another only serves to stall your demise. Either you tell me your purpose here, or I'll have no choice but to turn you into a side dish," the lynx answered, baring his teeth.

"But…" Sitting on his hind legs, the ermine looked down and up, before continuing, "...I don't think I look that appetizing. I mean, you gotta turn me into bite-sized pieces if you wanna fit all this down your throat."

"You're quite the unusual one, aren't you? Wily creatures such as yourself are only pests in my eyes," the lumbering feline declared–before digging into the flesh of the wounded ungulate. As soon as he yanked a chunk of meat out, he tossed it away, splattering the ermine's white coat with blood.

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"Hey, watch where you're throwing that thing! First, the mourning, now you're throwing your food away?! Who do you think you are?!" Edward spat, shaking his long body in an irritated huff.

"There, you got your share. Now leave me in peace," the lynx snarled before softening for the slightest moment. "...Let me grieve for a little bit longer."

"Tch, I didn't come for free food in the first place. Do I look like a vulture to you?" the ermine refuted before taking a sniff at the warm flesh. "Ew, gross. Do you have any flint, coal, or anything at all?" When met with silence, Edward tossed his head, berating himself, "Oh macadamias, I shouldn't have come out today."

When he returned with a couple of rocks and some twigs, he sat down, before striking a flame onto the makeshift campfire. It made a tiny campfire next to the humongous beast sitting beside him, who was now gorging themselves through the elk's cavernous stomach.

"Hehe, this is what I'm talking about!"

Looking up, the lynx spotted Edward twisting a stick around, letting his share be embroiled by the flickering flames. Before he furrowed his brows.

"What are you doing?"

"Cooking my food, of course. I stopped eating raw meat a long time ago." When he withdrew the stick from the fire, he remarked, "Hm, kinda looks like a meaty marshmallow on a toothpick. Is this what humans call a 'camping meal'?"

"Are you the one they call Edward?" the lynx interjected, giving him a discerning look.

A moment of silence, before the ermine gave him a proud look. "Heh, how'd you guess that? Is it because of my beautifully soft coat, my boundless fields of expertise, or even my manner of speaking–?"

"You're the one whom they call a scheming brat who got kicked out years ago."

. . .

"Wow. I did not expect that answer," Edward said before flatly biting into his meat. "Scheming, maybe, but calling me a brat is pushing it. Especially with the "got kicked out" part—Actually, I left out of my own volition! But there's one last thing I should correct you on." Licking his canines, the ermine steadfastly placed a paw on his chest. "My full name is Edward Erwin now. Got that?"

"Hm, very well then. Last names aren't as commonplace as they once were in Kismet, so this is a welcome surprise." Straightening themselves to full height, the lynx murmured, "You may call me Lewis."

"Lewis, is it?" Tossing a bone to the side, the ermine scampered up the rock, its beady eyes staring inquisitively at the feline's golden ones. "How about you answer my questions now? How'd you become fluent in speaking human language, and second, what were you even doing with that elk carcass?"

Lewis closed his eyes, seemingly contemplating those inquires, before finally responding, "In my human form, I often venture to the town below, bringing with me spoils of my hunt. Learning to converse with the few villagers who live there allows me to secure a warm shelter." Glancing at the half-eaten skeleton of the elk, the lynx added, "...But since then, I always felt something unusual. As if great guilt weighs down upon my chest."

Edward stopped chewing, his eyes looking towards his newfound companion. "And? What else made it so unusual?"

"Hm, it's become a feeling akin to…wanting to wish someone goodbye before they leave for good." Shaking his head, Lewis gritted his teeth, his eyes becoming slightly more murky. "But I can't say…for sure."

Compared to the enormous size of the lynx, Edward could already feel the pressure weighing down on both their shoulders, contemplating the numerous secrets from within. Why do we feel these sensations? What beckons us to question why the world works the way it does? Why do we seek out companions to absolve our loneliness?

"You're..becoming more like them," Edward softly admitted, repeating the same words he heard years ago.

Looking in his direction, Lewis asked, "You mean…those humans?"

With a wry laugh, the ermine continued, "Sometimes, I wonder why we have to continue this abhorrent cycle of transforming ourselves into something we're not. Even worse, why does it hurt so much when we go back and forth between our true and artificial forms? But…" Looking down at his paws, Edward softly admitted, "I feel like…I can do anything now. I can write notes reminding myself of what I did that day, study how humans speak in their language, and even craft tools that efficiently do things for me. Things that I'd never do if I were just a regular ermine. But in your case…"

Sitting in the middle of Lewis' hulking shadow, Edward chuckled, "...You're able to feel what they're feeling. Doing things a predator wouldn't normally do." Before he muttered to the side, "Even if you're a weirdo already."

"I see…" Standing on all fours, the lynx paid the ermine a knowing glance, before padding away. Leaving behind the elk's carcass in his tracks. "...Saying such foolhardy things to a predator who was bound to eat you is no easy feat, so consider this a short-lived present for humoring me. But no matter what happens…"

"...I won't stand to become a true human myself."