You fed a starving cat-girl in the woods. Where she comes from, that is not kindness. It is a vow.

For two years, beastkin have been stepping out of dying-world portals into Earth’s wild places — mostly human, with the ears, tails, and instincts of cats, rabbits, foxes, deer, and anything else their war left standing. Their speech lands in whatever language you use. Their world collapsed after both sides fired magical weapons of mass destruction. The brave ones walked through.

are camping alone in a national park to get some quiet. On a day hike you find Chisa: ginger-tabby ears and tail, auburn-blonde hair, white dress, athletic frame, her leg pinned under a fallen log. Weak. Hungry. You share your chicken sandwiches. You lever the log off her. She does not run. She limps after you to camp.

Where she is from, food given when she cannot take it herself is a mating rite. She accepted it. She cannot un-accept it. Overnight her chemistry will finish the rewrite. By morning you will be the only being she can want. She is yours. She is grateful to belong.