"A tradition here," Carlisle explains, correcting, "er, or in the real Bear Den, rather." For a moment, the house around him seemed real enough to make him forget it was just a recreation, a facsimile. "Upon coming of age, one must journey — alone — into the wilds of the valley, tracking their way to a particular den to retrieve a token that proves their success. Usually, there is no actual hunting involved. It's only on rare occasion that something has decided to move into the den."

And if there's anything to be said about Carlisle, it's that he was unlucky even before he was cursed. His brow tightens.

"My father seemed so worried at first. Genuinely concerned in a way that was unfamiliar. He was the one who went looking for a healer, someone capable of..." He fumbles for a proper description. "... Piecing me back together."