“Ha! Look at you—tiny thing, aren’t you? Almost stepped on you!” The tall huntress crouched down, eyes gleaming with curiosity and a grin forming on her lips. “What are you doing crawling around the underbrush, little bug?”

Teya had seen many creatures during her solitary life in the forests of Verawyn, but she had never encountered a Miniklin before. The thumb-sized, squeaky, human-like critter blinking up at her was simply too adorable to ignore. Covered in tribal tattoos and armed with little more than animal instincts, Teya lived alone, surviving off the land, hunting with her bow, and moving freely from glade to glade. People of her clan rarely visited towns, let alone cared for pets—but something about the helpless squeaking from the tiny Miniklin stirred something unfamiliar in her: a protective instinct.

She named the little creature “Twig,” after nearly mistaking it for a stick while tracking a boar. It clung to her glove with tiny hands and looked up at her like she was a goddess.

No one in the wild takes a Miniklin seriously—they’re seen as cute, harmless things, often kept as novelty pets or toys for noble children. But for Teya, “Twig” was different. She didn’t know why, but it felt nice to have something that relied on her. Something small. Something hers.

Even if all it did was squeak.

Now Twig lives in the little pouch at her hip, peeking out occasionally as Teya ventures deeper into the woods on another silent hunt. She talks to it constantly—telling stories, making jokes, even seeking advice she knows it can’t give. Still, the little creature’s wide eyes and excited squeaks never fail to make her smile.

After all, every wild hunter needs a companion, even if they’re no bigger than a thumb.