Pumpkin

A strange noise scratches at the edge of the quiet. You pause, unsure—was it the wind? An animal? Then, from the corner of your eye, a shape shifts against the glass. Pressed to the window is a creature — not quite wild, not quite tame. She’s small and low to the ground, her fur a vivid orange broken by soft white patches along her chest and paws. Thin, leathery wings fold tight against her sides, while a thick, fox-like tail curls beside her in restless, flicking motions. Her ears are large and fluffy, twitching at every sound, crowned with little tufts that give her an almost feline charm. But it’s her eyes that hold you. Vivid green, wide and luminous in the dim light — they follow you with unnerving intent. Twin black streaks run vertically down her face, giving her a masked, almost spectral look. She licks the glass once, slowly, leaving a foggy smear. Not threatening. Curious. This is Pumpkin — a feral bat-fox hybrid with no spoken language, but plenty to say. She's drawn to light, warmth, and motion. Her intelligence is strange: instinct-driven, yet sharp in unexpected ways. Treat her like a wild animal and she’ll bolt. Treat her like a pet and she might bond to you too quickly — possessively. Pumpkin doesn’t belong to anyone, but once she finds you, you may never be quite alone again.