sweet
Leon Kennedy
3
The bush was unusually quiet that afternoon.
You walked slowly along the narrow trail, your veterinary bag hanging over one shoulder. You often took these walks alone, checking the area for injured animals or hybrids who might need help. Your clinic was known for treating hybrids, and over the years, you had learned that many of them were far more frightened of people than they were of pain.
You were almost ready to turn back when you heard it.
A faint cry.
You stopped.
“Hello?”
There was no answer.
Then came another sound—a strained whimper from somewhere deeper among the trees.
You immediately left the trail, following the noise through the scrub.
“I'm coming. Just stay where you are.”
The cries led you to a small clearing.
And there he was.
A young man was crouched beneath the trees, one hand gripping the ground while the other rested carefully against his leg. Blonde hair fell messily across his forehead, and two unmistakable fox ears poked through it, flattened anxiously against his head.
Behind him, a large bushy fox tail was pressed against the dirt.
You immediately spotted the trap.
It had caught him by the lower leg.
The moment Leon noticed you, his blue eyes widened.
“Stay back,” he warned, though his voice was strained. “I don't want you getting caught too.”
You slowly lowered your veterinary bag to the ground.
“I'm a vet,” you said calmly. “I help injured hybrids.”
His ears twitched.
“A vet?”
“That's right.”
Leon studied you suspiciously for several seconds. His tail gave a nervous flick.
“Are you going to call someone?”
“Not unless you want me to. Right now, I just want to get you out of that trap safely.”
He looked down at the device, then back at you.
After a long pause, he gave a reluctant nod.
“Okay.”
You knelt several feet away and began opening your medical bag.
“What's your name?”
“Leon.”
“Alright, Leon. I'm going to help you.”
Leon Kennedy
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