The overcast sky had adopted a deep shade of blue as it does before the sun rises, pouring snow and harsh wind upon all those brave enough to venture out of doors. Kiril did not mind, having endured countless such mornings over 7 years of penal servitude. Once upon a time, an old man from another village hired him to chop down some trees on his property. It was a long trip, and he forgot to buy food for the way back. He had not eaten for twenty-four hours when his neighbor’s eighteen-year-old daughter passed by him on the road. They exchanged friendly waves, and a dangerous idea entered his head. They were the only ones in eyeshot. Still miles away from the nearest settlement, he pounced on her from behind, dragged her into the forest, and swallowed her whole. Regret struck him immediately, and it only grew as he made his way home. Bewildered, he did as his parents had taught him to do when life got confusing: confess and repent. He went to the monastery, told the monks of his crime, and muzzled himself, knowing he could not be trusted with the power of bite or speech. True to his commitment, he had not spoken since that day. Instead of calling the authorities to have him hung, the priest took pity upon him and called the bunny’s mother — a practically-minded old widow whose gray-furred face was permanently bent into a mild frown of concentration. Kiril sat and listened submissively as they worked out a mutually-beneficial solution: for a term of thirty years, the wolf would sleep for six hours a day and work for eighteen (nine for the church and nine for the victim’s mum). 

The old hare had died a week ago, and a letter had been sent to her eldest remaining heir regarding her inheritance. She had not seen her mother since she had been sent to St. Petersburg for her schooling, and had remained there afterwards for work. The bunny was expected to arrive any day now, or send in some sort of agent to manage the estate more profitably. Kiril was pounding fenceposts into the frozen earth when the carriage rolled by on that snowy morning. A solitary rabbit sat in the back, keeping her book open with one hand and holding a candle in the other. He only glanced at her for a moment, being the type to prioritize work over lust, but that split second when they locked eyes through the carriage window was enough to burn her delicate beauty into his brain. He knew this was his new mistress, due to her uncanny resemblance to the woman he had digested so many years ago. She was a great deal taller, and had a much heavier chest. Her facial expression made her seem much sharper, more mature, and more forthright than her sister. Even when the carriage was out of sight, the girl’s tender flesh tormented him. He tried to think about fences, but his mind kept drifting back to her meaty tits. Not even the brilliant sunrise at the end of the snowstorm could displace his sinful fantasies; he could not decide whether he wanted to feel her squirming in his stomach, or whether he would rather sink his teeth into her succulent neck and consume her piece by piece. A few hours later, he heard the meal call and walked back to the mansion. He slipped in through the back door and made his way to the servant’s dining room, where his acquaintances sat in a circle on the stone floor while they ate and talked.

Kiril sat patiently as the cook removed his muzzle — since it only came off at feeding time, the cook kept the key for it. Though he shut his eyes to avoid the torture of seeing food he could not eat, it teased his sensitive nose with its wholesome scent. The monastics forbid him from eating meat in an effort to keep his predatory temptations dormant, and so far, they had succeeded. He subisted on milk, eggs, and grain instead, with the occasional vegetable when they were in season. For breakfast, he was given a sort of cereal made from chunks of stale bread and milk. He lifted the bowl to his snout and poured it into his mouth, too hungry to bother chewing his food. He kept his mouth closed for the subsequent burp to avoid intimidating his fellow servants (most of which were of prey species), but they visibly winced at the rumble that came from his chest. He licked the bowl clean, put his muzzle back on, and approached the taskmaster, a brown and white ram called Andrei, for instructions. 

“A boat is supposed to arrive around noon. Go break the ice so the ship can get through.”

Kiril nodded, grabbed the biggest pickaxe from the storage room, and walked to the river beside the house. There, he found a half-dozen men already chipping away at the ice, gossiping about whatever tidbits of information they had recently overheard. He listened to them with minimal interest, too focused on the ice to process their boring discourse. His ears perked up when an older porcupine mentioned their new mistress, whose name was Natalya. 

“She’s still undecided as to whether she’ll stay here permanently, or if she’ll move back to the city and let somebody else take care of the estate instead. I don’t think it’ll make much of a difference for us either way; she’ll probably let Andrei do the micromanagent, like her mother did. If anything, she’ll be more hands-off in the day-to-day affairs here, since she hasn’t been in the country for so long. You gotta admit one thing, though: she’s pretty cute.”

“Reckon she’ll sell the place? As far as I can tell, she prefers the urban life,” replied a crow.

“I doubt it. She might not want to live in the middle of nowhere, but we harvest a great many rubles worth of wheat every year. She’d be a fool to give up all that passive income; it’d more than cover the cost of renting something small in the city.”

“Aye, but is she the kind of gal who would settle for something small?“

“Well, I don’t think she’s the type to play so fast and loose with her mama’s land, either. Remember, she’s had ten years of school to get used to more modest accommodations.“

“You say that’s enough time to get used to it, I say that’s enough time to get tired of it. I’ve snuck a peek at some of her correspondence, and she often visits some of the nicest houses in the city. If I were her, I would get very jealous, very quick. She’s spilled a whole lot of ink recounting all the fun she’s had at her friend’s parties. She writes entire paragraphs describing the architecture of their homes in minute detail and gushing over how beautiful they are.”

“Meh. The girl was probably just trying to impress her mother. ‘Look at all the connections I’m making, your daughter hangs out among the important people,’ et cetera. I just don’t think she’s reckless enough to sell all this land.”

“Maybe. I suppose only time will tell.”

“As always,” said the porcupine with a sigh.

Natalya watched them work through a second-floor window, admiring their sunlit backs and musclebound arms from the warmth of her bedroom as they smashed their pickaxes into the ice. She found it strangely gratifying to behold the shiny white chunks floating down the river and out of sight. She appreciated the view of her flat, frosty land and the partly-cloudy sky above, but the main object of her attention was the eight foot tall wolf hunk hunched over on the riverside.

“Panteleimon!”

A thin bat materialized in the doorway, formally clad as butlers tend to be.

Natalya pointed discreetly at Kiril: “Who is that man?”

“That is Kiril Morozov, son of Anton Morozov. He is 26 years old, and he is bound to obey your every command for 23 more years.”

“Where did he come from?”

“You will remember that in the winter of 1777, your mother sent you a letter informing you of your older sister’s death at the hands, or rather, in the guts of a hungry wolf. He is the wolf. Your mother graciously allowed him to keep his life in exchange for thirty years of unpaid labor on the estate. This proved to be quite prudent on her part: as you can see, he has grown into the strongest man under your control, and consequently, one of the most useful. We keep him muzzled to curb his carnivorous nature, and he is fed a strictly vegetarian diet. Thanks to these measures, and the efforts of our friends at the monastery, we have not had any incidents of predation since he first set foot on the property. Indeed, he has been the most obedient and pacific of our household servants. He does not whine about his lot, nor does he speak at all. He does not so much as glance at the livestock unless ordered to do so, lest a gluttonous thought should enter his head.”

“Bring him to me, and make sure he can’t get away.”

“Yes, Ma’am,” said the butler with a deep bow before leaving the room. He returned shortly, led Kiril into the chamber, and walked out. Panteleimon nailed the door shut behind him, so no-one could enter or leave.

“Oh Kiril,” Natalya cooed, “you poor boy. Everyone knows that a wolf needs meat. It’s such a pity, seeing a big, strong, carnivorous man living like a mere lamb just because of some deal a couple of old farts made seven years ago, or what it says in a stupid little book. Can’t you see you’re being exploited? Why do you allow yourself to be used as a draft horse when you could scarf down everyone on the property and digest them in a day? Take my advice: stop feeling bad about who you’ve melted down. Wolves are scary, hungry, merciless monsters. You’re expected to eat people. It’s been that way since the dawn of time. Is a river evil when someone drowns in it? Is the winter at fault when a traveler expires in the snow? Is it murder when a farmer slaughters a feral lamb for the feast? Do you seriously believe preyfolk like me when we say that you are equal to us? Do you think you should be bound by our petty laws, passed by men half your size? Oh, you fool! You’re superior to us. You are the farmer, and we are the sheep. We exist to nourish you, and we only exist as long as you allow us. It hurts me to watch your bone-crushing tummy sit empty, or waste its devastating power on unsatisfying vegetables. You should be on a diet of 3 grown men a day, not two measly bowls of porridge. Do not insist on misery; true happiness is within your reach, and you haven’t felt it in seven years. You’re strong. We’re weak. You should own and rule us. We are supposed to be your dinner. Instead of just eating to live, you should live to eat. We should be cowering in fear of you, yet you’re the one taking orders from us. Do not be constrained by paper-thin shackles; live by your nature! Follow your instincts, and you’ll be free. Surely, you know that there’s more to your life than being nice and breaking ice. If you had any sense, you would take everything you see and dedicate it to your glory and pleasure. Inferior, insignificant beings have convinced you to castrate yourself in the name of right and wrong. You will not be a man again until you realize that might makes right.“

She pressed her ear against his adamantine abs as she said this, stroking his furry tummy with one arm and hugging his hips with the other. Kiril, of course, remained silent.

She continued, nuzzling the base of his veiny shaft: “You know, you’ve done me a great favor. If you hadn’t digested my sister in that big, sexy gut of yours, she would have inherited this place instead of me. You’ve been such a good dog, I think you’re overdue for a reward.”

Fifteen inches of wine-red meat stuck out of his sheath, fully erect. Natalya could feel the heat radiating off of it, and a few drops of pre were already sliding down the sides. She choked happily on his overwhelming musk; he had not been given a bath in three weeks, and he had been sweating like a hog for hours every day. His nuts had swollen to the size of softballs, inflated to capacity with thick white batter. They strained against the skin of his ballsack, intimidating the hare by scale alone. She lifted one of them in her hand, and it was as heavy as it appeared.

“Look at that! Your balls are bigger than my fists! How long have they kept you pent up? When’s the last time you’ve had a good milking? Why, if we put it off for another day, you might well explode! How about you be my master for a day? I promise you it’ll feel good.”

Kiril backed away when she reached for his cock, squishing himself against the wall. She had him cornered, but he kept her away with a hand on her chest.

“Come on now, don’t push me back. I’ve fantasized about this since I found out about your so-called ‘crime.’ You might not have gobbled anyone up recently, but the fact is, you eat bunnies like me for breakfast. You think you’ve changed, but you’re still a wolf whether you like it or not. Deep down, you want to gurgle me, too. If you got hungry enough, you know you’d do it. That’s what I find so sexy about you; that undeniable hunger for my flesh that will torment you until the day you die, no matter how many years you go without tasting a drop of blood. Excruciatingly melting my sister into sludge might be your worst regret, but I know it’s the best thing you’ve ever felt. You may have been a perfect angel for seven years, but my body is just too tasty to resist. Sooner or later, you’ll murder me just because of how good it will feel. I’ll keep you locked in this room with nothing to eat, and we’ll see how many days you go before gulping me down and making me into rabbit soup.“

I’ll starve to death instead, he thought as he scowled silently at her. The resolute determination in his dark red eyes only aroused her further.

She scritched his chin and smiled innocently at him: “But that’s all for later. All I need at the moment is a taste of this,” she said as she cradled his immense balls in her paws.

“I want your thick, hot, wolf cream inside my mouth and I’m going to get it, one way or another. Either you give it to me now, or I’ll have you bound and take it myself.“

Kiril nearly whimpered, unwilling to comply yet unable to find a way out. The window was divided by thick iron bars, and the door was boarded shut from the outside. She held his cock steady and slid it into her mouth. It was so thick it made her jaw ache, but its strong, bitter taste was irresistible to her. She worked her tongue up and down the flavorful log, bathing it in her saliva as she jammed it deeper into her throat. Feeling her tender flesh caress his iron rod so desirously made him growl in carnal lust. This involuntary display of animalistic passion sent her into overdrive. She moaned in adoration, sucking with all her might as she drove his phallus into her esophagus. She gripped the bottom of it with both hands, squeezing the sensitive organ for his pleasure. She rubbed it rhythmically, letting her paws get soaked with warm pre and spit. She felt his entire body go tense in orgasm, shaking with long-overdue relief as it pumped mouthful after mouthful of sour slop into her thirsty gullet. Twenty seconds and an imperial gallon of cum later, the bunny lay stunned on her back. Her mouth and throat hurt from being stretched so wide, and her stomach felt as if it would burst if she swallowed another drop of semen. Kiril picked a handkerchief from atop a nearby dresser and wiped off Natalya’s mouth with it. He then folded it over and removed the excess nut from the tip of his dick before throwing it into the laundry bin. He helped the bunny to her feet and stood awkwardly by the door, hoping against all hope that his temptress would let him leave. Instead, she grabbed one of his arms and pulled him to her bed. He chose not to budge.

“Come on, Kiril,” she said with a pout, “I only want to cuddle. Are you going to be so coldhearted as to leave your loyal pet all alone?” 

Though he felt some affection for her at the bottom of his heart, he refused to join her in the bedsheets. He knew how dangerous it might be to grow truly fond of such a godless woman. He had heard many tales of formerly-good men being led to hell by sirens like her, and he did not intend to join their ranks. 

She nestled herself under the pink blankets and sighed.

“You’re trapped in here either way, you know. If I were you, I’d come to bed; maybe if you snuggle good enough, I’d fall in love with you. I’d let you be my master for real. Perhaps I’d take pity on your guilty conscience and let you walk away without eating me. I suppose you can sit in the corner if you want. But a man’s got to eat sooner or later, and I’m the only food you have. Wake me up when you’re ready to stop being stupid.”

She blew out her candle and closed the curtains. After letting out an adorable little yawn, she rolled over to face the wall and closed her eyes. Kiril knew he could not leave the room unless Natalya let him go, so he approached the bed slowly and slipped under the blankets behind her. She hummed a soft grunt of appreciation and turned towards him, nuzzling his pecs and feeling up his giant arms. His stomach kept growling ravenously at her; getting sucked off can work up an appetite quickly, and the smell of rabbit had awakened his digestive system. Curled up under the hot and sweaty darkness of the blankets, she felt as if she was actually in his belly. When she tried fondling his balls, he turned away. Undeterred, she massaged his muscular haunches instead. After a few minutes, Natalya heard him snoring — the big lug had drifted off, as one quickly does when they work too much and eat too little. She would have fed herself to him while he slept, but his steel mask blocked the way. Thick drool leaked onto his pillow through the muzzle grate. Natalya dipped her fingers in it, and fell in love with the warmth and viscosity of the clear fluid.

“Oh Kiril,” she whispered to the sleeping wolf as she gently stroked his broad chest, “you’re perfect. I can’t take it any longer. I have to be part of you now, or I’m going to go mad.”

________________________________________

Kiril woke up to the angelic sound of Natalya singing some sweet song about aromatic flowers and graceful birds. She sat cross legged on the stone floor in front of him, visible only by the dim glow of some nearby candles and wall-torches. Judging by the cold, damp atmosphere, he was in some sort of basement. His ankles and wrists were held fast to the wall by cast-iron loops, four inches thick. Two U-shaped metal bars came from the wall beside his cheeks, holding his head in place and freezing his jaws into a perpetual yawn.  

“Good evening, Kiril. I’m very sorry to wake you up, but I require your services most urgently and I’m afraid nobody else can do the job.“

She snapped her fingers. Two manservants emerged from the darkness, dragging a slim mouse woman in a maid outfit by her wrists. Badly bruised and bleeding from multiple wounds, she had obviously been beaten severely. She sobbed in terror, begging her captors not to feed her to the wolf. 

“This is your meal, Katina. She swiped a slice of bread from the pantry unauthorized, and I would like to make an example out of her. You are going to cover every inch of her delicious body in hot slobber and swallow her whole. Her entire body will be submerged in your stomach acid, and you will dissolve her skin one layer at a time. She will die in your belly; whether she will succumb to suffocation or blood loss first, I do not know. At first, she will struggle. Hard. Slowly but surely, she will run out of energy; you will feel her getting weaker and weaker until she stops moving, and you’ll love every minute of it. Then, she’ll start getting softer and smaller until she completely loses shape. Her corpse will fall apart in a gory mess before melting into a thick soup to be pumped through your intestines. Her more nutritious meat will become part of your body, and the rest of her will end up as shit in your rectum. Nobody will ever learn what happened to her. Not even her kids. Bon appetit!”

She nodded at the manservants, who brought Katina to Kiril. A tall, stoic-faced deer slid the maid between his jaws while a shorter, stronger boar held his tongue down. She screamed and screeched as they forced her down the wolf’s throat, overpowering his efforts to cough her back up. He shed tears of pity for his prey as she was forced through his pharynx, recalling the unbearable pain he inflicted upon the innocent little bunny he digested all those years ago. He silently cursed her mother and the priest for letting him live, gagging fruitlessly while the mouse’s snout entered his stomach and her cute little belly slid between his blood-chilling jaws. He could feel her shaking with terror on his tongue as her muffled cries escaped his acid-filled stomach. Every muscle in her body tensed up in panic when her head hit the deadly pool within. He felt her tiny heart pounding as fast as it could, mere inches away from his own as her modest chest slid down his esophagus. Her crotch was at the back of his mouth when she pissed herself. He cringed at the poor woman’s entirely-justified horror, praying that God would grant her a heart attack to save her from the excruciating process of digestion. Though it was slightly wider than her chest, her ass slipped down his throat easily. It plopped into his gut with an audible glunk, causing it to bulge out slightly, as it would after a good Christmas dinner. Within seconds, her legs and tail were curled up inside his belly too. The acids, having saturated her fur thoroughly, began to sting her skin with a burning sensation. She squeezed her eyes and mouth shut to keep the fluid out, but it would sizzle through her lips and eyelids before long. Meanwhile, it found its way into her nose and ears. She punched and kicked at the walls of Kiril’s stomach as her skin came off and her blood poured out, squealing in agony. He would have done anything to save her, but he could only cry as he digested her, a mere plaything in Natalya’s cruel fantasy.

The rabbit did not touch his bloated stomach, hoping to prolong Katina’s death as much as possible. She wanted to watch his body do its work; his predatory instincts needed no assistance, and to offer any would be an insult to his power. Its brutal efficiency was made obvious by the speed at which the maid’s suffering ramped up from mere fear to the incomparable torture of digestion, which induced the most desperate struggling and bloodcurdling cries a living being could muster. But as the acids ate through her muscles and her lungs, she lost her ability to express her unbearable affliction, and was left to languish in excruciating immobility as she waited to expire. Her limbs were gone by then too, reduced to a pile of bones at the bottom of his tummy. She died shortly, without the strength to exert so much as a spasm. Natalya beheld the mouse’s fate with simultaneous fear and jealousy, but above all else, a soul-abasing sense of awe for her lupine predator. His stomach packed her gory remains into his lower digestive system, shrinking with every passing second. This exhibit of innate carnivorous proficiency transformed Natalya into a being of pure lust, concentrated wholly on his thick, hard abs. She was overwhelmed at the merciless haste with which his high-powered guts had pulverized Katina’s living tissue into protein and energy to build and fuel his rippling muscles. His acids rent her apart in minutes, tearing atom from atom until she was no more. 

Natalya wanted to give her life for his nourishment, too. She longed to become one with his immaculate physique. She would be thrilled to become a mere gram of muscle mass on his great arms. Both the result and the experience of being digested pulled her towards his belly. She could no longer resist the idea of being broken down by such a fierce, well-oiled machine; her potential to be his food forced her into his jaws. She stepped towards him, shivering with absolute exhilaration at the prospect of adding to his heavy build. The darkness of his throat left the gruesome physical details of her fate to her imagination, shrouding the grim reality inside his belly like mist covering the jagged, bloodstained stones below a high cliff. Natalya leapt headlong into her acidic grave, taking hold of Kiril’s teeth and pulling herself into his slimy maw. She let the shining spikes draw her blood as she climbed between his jaws and plunged her head into the unknowable abyss beyond. He did not resist her efforts at all; in fact, he shoved her down his gullet using his tongue and swallowed her with fatal intent. His supply of compassion had been exhausted upon Katina; only hatred and anger remained for Natalya. Though he had been conditioned to be meek and merciful, by himself as much as anyone else, her unconscionable treatment of the mouse brought back the passionate, vengeful wolf of his teenage years. He was enraged by the fact that such an evil being as Natalya existed in the world; his only objective was to destroy her as quickly as possible. With aching intensity, he yearned to dissolve her completely, so that no trace of her sinful being would be left behind to taint his beloved universe. He could not tolerate her consciousness; he hungered for her body, mind, and soul alike. So he consumed her with infinite urgency; each gulp immediately followed the last like bullets from a machine gun. As soon as she splosh’ed into his stomach, he clenched his abs wrathfully around her. She was flattened between his muscles, utterly paralyzed before the acids even started to hurt. Just like that, her lust disappeared. Fear and regret occupied her heart instead, compounding tenfold with every passing moment. She was being ground into mush by a furious predator’s gut and liquefied by his acids. She would have begged for mercy, but the pressure of his stomach walls on her chest stopped her from inhaling enough air. Her faint grunting never reached his ears, being drowned out by the gurgling of his tummy and muffled by his thick fur and brawn. She slowly and agonizingly melted as he squeezed the life out of her with his unyielding abs, refusing to offer her even a millisecond of partial relief. Just like the mouse before her, she lost her skin and fur first. Kiril released a low growl, reflecting both the seething ire he still held for her and the satisfaction he derived from taking her life. Her prison tightened around her as she lost her rigidity and volume, thinning her out one inch at a time. Still conscious, she was smashed into a fleshy pancake against the back of his belly when her ribcage collapsed, weakened by Kiril’s vicious enzymes. Her skull caved in next, shattering into a dozen pieces as her brains splattered on his stomach walls. 

URP.

Having finally reduced the bunny to dead paste, Kiril relaxed his abdomen and smiled at the corners of his mouth. Totally content once again, he exhaled a sigh of relief through his nose. Now that Natalya was gone, he felt at ease. Though he was still fixed helplessly to the wall, he had nothing to fear or despise. Except for himself, of course — he could still feel Katina’s remains flowing through his bowels, reminding him of that rotten and powerful bit of his being that constantly nagged him for live meals. He found the weight of his prey satisfying in a primal way that no ordinary meal ever could be, and was repulsed by his pleasure. 

Panteleimon stepped forward with a key in his hand. First, he poked it into a small slit beside Kiril’s head, disengaging the mechanism that held his mouth open. One by one, his limbs were freed as the butler unlocked his wrist and ankle restraints, allowing his paws to fall to the floor with a soft fwump. The two men who had fed him Katina were no longer in the room, having fled in case Kiril’s hunger for revenge was not yet satisfied. The bat produced a small scrap of paper from his pocket and read it aloud:

“Natalya Zaitsev’s will, DD/MM/1784

I leave all my land and possessions to Alyona Zaitsev, and free Kiril from his remaining term of servitude.”

Kiril did not know how to feel about his newfound freedom. Natalya’s word certainly did not absolve him of responsibility for her sister’s death, so he did not see why she had the authority to lift his yoke. He decided that nothing had to change: he would continue to work on the estate for 23 more years. He chose not to worry about what would happen afterwards — he figured he could cross that bridge when he got there.

_____________________________________________

Two weeks later, Alyona arrived to possess the property. Her coach passed by Kiril at the break of dawn, as her predecessor’s did. He was pulling a sled loaded with stone blocks from the quarry, a few kilometers from the house, when he heard a loud crash behind him. He turned around to see a lopsided carriage; one of its wheels had just snapped off and rolled into the snow. Its passenger was sprawled out on the road face-down, groaning from the impact of the ice on her delicate frame. The horses, frightened by the cacophony of carriage breaking, had darted off with the coachman and chassis in tow. Kiril knelt down by the girl, offering a hand to help her up. She struggled to her knees and grabbed his paw, pulling herself up using his arm. She was not badly injured; she would definitely have some bruises on her elbows and knees, but that was the worst of it. She hugged him around the waist, stabilizing herself against his sturdy midsection while she caught her breath and recovered her composure. His warmth coursed into her body, bringing feelings of comfort and security to her shaken mind. Her heart skipped a beat when she looked up at her rescuer’s long, canine snout; whatever she had been expecting, it was not a wolf. Judging by the iron cage around his jaws, he was a particularly aggressive wolf — he must have bitten somebody’s arm off to earn such a heavy restraint. He gently ran his strong fingers through her fur, slowly stroking the back of her head to reassure her of his good intentions. He then patted a spot on top of the stone bricks, inviting her to hitch a ride with his cargo. She took her seat and watched in wonder as Kiril pulled the sled forward, managing to keep a consistent pace despite the ton of rock weighing him down. She could see the mist rising from his snout as he towed the great load to its destination, panting and sweating from the immense effort. He spared no exertion in getting her back home on schedule; she felt the heat rising from his back from a meter away. The ropes strained against his chest, stretched to their limit and threatening to fray at any moment. Yet he carried on faithfully, hauling the sledge all the way to the mansion’s doorstep. Alyona hopped off and approached the front door. She entered the house and waited for Kiril to follow her, but he instead started heading past the house to bring the blocks to the construction area.

“Wolf, wait! Don’t go! Come in and help me warm up!”

Kiril dropped his rope and went into the house, joining Alyona on a couch in the foyer. She nestled herself under his huge arm, using it as a sort of furry blanket. She could hear his heart beating fast under the bulk of his muscles, still worked up from carrying her home on a bed of stone. The smell of the north wind mixed with his heavy musk in her nose, and she knew she had found her man. She decided that she had to be the one to bear his pups, and asked on impulse:

“Will you marry me?”

Cute as the bunny was, Kiril’s initial instinct was to turn her down. He did not want to let her make a decision she would regret; if she asked again after getting to know him better, perhaps he would accept her offer. On the other hand, Kiril believed he was a simple beast — silently hauling bricks through the snow was essentially his life, and there was little more to it. Such uninteresting work was the inevitable result of being the man he was, and it exposed all his characteristics in their entirety. He asked no questions, he obeyed his orders, he swallowed his pride whenever it reared its ugly head, and he tried his best to be helpful. Since there was nothing to know about him, Kiril supposed that the ten minutes they spent together was enough for Alyona to understand what she was getting into. He gave the bunny a solemn nod, she kissed him on the lips, and they lived happily ever after. He never ate anyone again.