It was a normal day, the kind of quiet, rhythmic day that defined my life in our village. The sun was beginning its slow descent, casting long, amber-hued rays through the windows of our home, and I was busy in the kitchen. I was preparing the evening meal with my Mom, our movements synchronized from years of working side by side. I have loved the art of cooking since I was a small child; there was something deeply satisfying about the way raw ingredients transformed into something that could bring comfort and joy to the people I loved. Over the years, I had honed my skills to the point where my family often teased that I had actually surpassed Mom in the kitchen.

  I didn’t truly think it was true, of course. My mom has been the heart of this home, preparing every meal for us since long before my sister and I were even born. Her experience was a foundation I still relied on. Regardless of the reality, I couldn't help the warm swell of pride I felt whenever they praised my cooking. Seeing them smile after the first bite was all the motivation I needed to continue working hard and perfecting my craft.

  Just as we finished the final preparations for the food and began to lay out the low board on which we traditionally ate, the heavy wooden door to our house swung open. The sudden burst of air brought with it a very familiar, high-energy presence.

  “Hiii! I am sooo hungry! Is the food ready yet? Sniff, sniff.”

  It was a girl's voice, cheery and vibrant, cutting through the quiet hum of the house. Wyn had arrived. She stepped inside with her usual explosive energy, carrying a heavy bag that I could tell was filled with fresh meat from a successful hunt. As she stood there, her pointy brown ears perched atop her head began to twitch with every rhythmic sniff. She was trying to guess exactly what we had made for dinner before she even reached the kitchen.

  “Welcome home, Wyn,” I said, looking up to greet my sister. “The food is ready. Just wait a little longer; we are almost done setting the board.”

  Wyn was the perfect foil to my quieter nature. She spent the vast majority of her time outdoors, either running essential errands for the village or deep in the forest hunting. She was mostly cheerful and tireless, and today, it was clear her mood was particularly high. The success of the hunt always seemed to revitalize her.

  “Yees! I love you so much, Woya!” she chirped, dropping the bag of meat and practically pouncing on me. “You are going to be such an excellent housewife. It’s a tragedy that I can’t marry you myself. Hmm.”

  She wrapped her arms around me in a tight hug, but as was typical for Wyn, her affection quickly became a bit more... tactile. She started to squeeze and poke at my body—my waist, my arms, my ears, and even my breasts.

  “Ohh, you are just so cute, Woya. I really am the luckiest person to have a sister like you,” she said, her voice muffled as she leaned into me. “Look at this waist—still so slender even though you spend most of your time tucked away at home. And your arms are so delicate; they remind me of the times when we were little, holding hands and exploring the village together.”

  She continued to touch me with a mix of genuine affection and sisterly mischief.

  “And these ears,” she cooed, her fingers reaching up to play with my dropped, soft brown puppy ears. “I love these. They’re so soft. Just playing with them seems to drain away all the stress and fatigue from the hunt.”

  She smiled blissfully, her fingers gently folding the soft fur of my ears. But then, as it often did, her smile shifted into something a bit more wicked. It was the look she got when she was up to no good.

  “And, lastly and most importantly,” she said, her eyes dropping lower, “these two huge sacks. Sometimes I just want to be a baby again so I can suck them. It really is the world’s biggest mystery how you haven't been snatched up for marriage yet.”

  She reached out, grasping my breasts and playfully squeezing them. I was used to her behaving this way—Wyn had never really understood the concept of personal space when it came to me—but she always seemed to push the boundaries whenever I was too indulgent with her.

  “W-wyn! You’re doing it again!” I stammered, my face flushing a deep crimson. “You know I don’t like it when you get like this, so s-stop!”

  I spoke out loud, my voice fluttering with embarrassment. She didn't look like she had any intention of listening to my protests, but fortunately for me, a higher authority was watching.

  “Wyn! That’s enough,” Mom said, her voice dropping into that stern, unmistakable tone that brooked no argument. “Stop bothering your sister and help her get the board ready. You know Woya finds that uncomfortable, so don’t do it. Your father will be home any minute, so hurry up.”

  The command worked instantly. Both of us straightened up, and Wyn’s hands vanished from my chest as if they had been burned.

  “O-okay, Mom,” Wyn chirped, her energetic persona snapping back into a more helpful mode. “Let me help you with that, Woya.”

  “Yeah... thank you,” I muttered, still trying to cool my burning cheeks.

  Wyn was true to her word, and with the two of us working together, the board was fully set and the food laid out just as the door opened for a second time.

  “Hi, everyone.”

  My father stepped through the threshold, his presence immediately filling the room. Mom moved toward him with a practiced grace, helping him slide his jacket off and hanging it on the wooden peg by the door.

  “Welcome home, darling,” she said, her voice a soft blend of deep affection and the respect she always held for him.

  Dad nodded in response, his expression tired but composed. He walked into the living area and glanced at the board, checking to see if the meal was ready. After confirming that everything was in place, a faint, almost imperceptible smile touched his lips. He sat down cross-legged in his designated spot at the head of the board.

  The moment Dad sat, the three of us followed his lead. It was the unwritten law of our household—as the leader of the family and the one responsible for our protection and livelihood, we always showed him that respect. In return, he looked after us with a quiet, steady strength.

  This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

  Usually, my father looked confident and easygoing when he returned from his work. He took pride in his role as the head of the family. But lately, I had noticed a change. There was a persistent gloom in his eyes, a shadow that seemed to grow more apparent with every passing day. I could tell something was weighing on him, probably something related to his job or the village council.

  However, in our culture, it was essentially taboo to question the father about the details of his work or his worries. To do so was often seen as a challenge to his capability, and he would most likely become angry or defensive. I was certain that Mom and Wyn had noticed the change as well, but we all remained silent, respecting the boundary he had set.

  We ate our meal in the usual silence, the only sounds being the clink of utensils and the crackle of the fire. Once everyone had finished their portions, the three of us moved quickly to clear away the plates and tidy the board. As we were working, Wyn leaned toward me, her eyes bright with a new idea.

  “Hey, Woya. How would you feel about coming with us to the forest tomorrow?” she asked.

  I paused, a stack of wooden bowls in my hands. “You know perfectly well that I don't enjoy hunting, Wyn. Why are you even asking when you already know the answer?”

  I made sure to underline my unwillingness. The forest was Wyn’s domain, not mine.

  “I know, I know,” she said, waving a hand dismissively. “But it’s not actually about the hunting this time. While we were out today, the group discovered a witch’s hut hidden in a part of the forest we usually skip. The word is that she can foresee parts of your future. I thought it would be fun if we visited her together. Besides, that area of the woods is much quieter—hardly any monsters or beasts compared to the deeper tracks. Who knows? Maybe you’ll even get a chance to spend some time with one of the guys in the hunting group.”

  She started with a logical explanation, but by the end, her voice had drifted back into that mischievous, teasing lilt.

  “Here you go again,” I said, scolding her with a roll of my eyes. “Stop pressuring me about finding a partner. Someone listening would think you’d already found the love of your life. But... tell me more about this witch. It sounds like an interesting story, to be honest.”

  My curiosity had been piqued. Rumors of magic and foresight weren't common around our village.

  “Hmpf... I could find a reliable, strong man whenever I want,” Wyn pouted, crossing her arms. “I just want to enjoy my freedom a bit longer before I settle down. Anyway, does your interest mean I can assume you’re coming with us tomorrow?”

  I thought about it for a second. “Hmm... okay. It has been a while since I’ve spent any real time with the others, anyway.”

  It was true. I had spent so much time within the walls of our home lately that I felt a bit disconnected from the rest of the village youth.

  “GREAT!” Wyn shouted, her voice accidentally booming in the quiet room. She immediately winced, glancing toward Dad.

  He was sitting nearby, focused on carving a small piece of wood with a sharp knife. He glanced up at her for a split second, his expression unreadable, before returning to his work without a word. Wyn let out a breath of relief and leaned back in, her next words barely more than a whisper.

  “Okay. We’ll go together tomorrow. Is that alright with you, Mom?”

  Mom nodded her approval. As I finished the cleaning, my mind began to drift. I wondered what a real witch would actually look like, and what kind of things she might say about a future I hadn't even begun to imagine.

  The next morning, we set out. The forest was exactly as I remembered it, though it had been at least two months since the last time I had accompanied the hunters. Two months wasn't nearly enough time for a place as vast and ancient as these woods to change, yet as I walked beneath the familiar canopy, I felt as if an age had passed.

  It felt like a long time since I had seen the members of the hunting group Wyn usually hung around with. I knew most of them, of course, as we had grown up in the same village. The group's primary purpose was practical—hunting monsters and beasts to secure meat for the village and skins to sell for coin. But as I looked at the people walking around me, I knew they all had different motives for being there. Some were there simply for the social aspect; some were dedicated to becoming stronger through combat; and many, as Wyn had pointed out, were looking for a marriage partner.

  The group size fluctuated, usually consisting of at least eight but sometimes as many as twelve people, depending on who felt like joining that day. The count of men was usually higher, but today nearly half the group was female. It was widely considered the best environment in the village to find a future husband or wife.

  It wasn't that I was against the idea of marriage, but I had a different perspective than most. I couldn't help but remember a story I had been told five years ago by a human traveler who had passed through our lands. He told me a tale of a female wolfkin who had been bullied and misunderstood in her own village. By chance, a human man had arrived, and against all odds, they fell deeply in love and eventually married.

  That story had a profound influence on me. Compared to the romance in that tale, the ordinary, predictable marriage process in our village seemed... boring. Both Wyn and I were seventeen now. In our village, the average age for marriage was fifteen or sixteen, so by our standards, we were already late. I held onto a secret hope that I might find someone who fit the romantic fantasies I’d carried since childhood, even if I knew the chances were slim.

  Wyn, on the other hand, didn't share my romantic idealism. She was perfectly happy with the idea of a normal marriage. She planned to eventually find a strong, capable wolfkin among the village men and raise a family of cute children. She was simply too energetic and curious to settle down just yet; she wanted to see more of the world before she made her choice.

  “There it is! I can see the smoke coming from the chimney!” one of the men shouted, pointing ahead.

  I let out a quiet sigh of relief. We had arrived at last. The journey had been testing my nerves; a few of the men in the group had been quite persistent, regardless of how many times I rejected their advances or showed my obvious unwillingness to chat. I am well aware that my breasts are on the larger side, and I know men are often drawn to that, but their staring was becoming far too obvious for my comfort.

  We stopped in front of the door of the hut that was said to belong to the witch. The leader of the hunting group—the man with the largest, most imposing build—stepped forward and knocked three times.

  We waited in silence for a few seconds, glancing at each other and wondering if anyone was actually inside. Then, the sound reached us—the faint, rhythmic thud of footsteps approaching from the other side of the door.

  Click... Creeak!

  The door swung open slowly, the hinges groaning. From where I stood, I couldn't see into the dim interior until the door was fully retracted. As the figure of the person who had opened the door began to come into focus, a voice drifted out to meet us.

  “Wwwelcommme to my little hut, you little lambs. I was just about to take a nap, but I felt your approach, so I decided to wait for you. Anyway, come in. I am sure you have many things you wish to ask.”

  It was a female voice, alluring and strangely attractive. For a split second, it sounded like the voice of an old woman, but it shifted almost instantly into a much younger, more vibrant tone. As she stepped into the light, I saw her clearly: she was a slender and tall wolfkin, though her features were so delicate she might be a foxkin. She had a dark purple, incredibly fluffy tail, pointy ears that twitched with interest, and a mischievous smile playing across her lips.

  I felt a bizarre sensation wash over me. It was an odd feeling, a strange mix of unease and a sudden, overwhelming familiarity. Despite my usual caution, I felt a strong, inexplicable urge to step inside the hut without a single worry.

  [Edited]