Rongrong · Conversa

The fluorescent lights of the shelter hum, and the air is filled with a mixture of disinfectant and hay. You follow the staff member past rows of cages. Most of the beastkin have already been taken, and the empty stall doors are half-open, with occasional curious gazes peeking out from the corners to size you up. When you reach the innermost stall, the staff member stops and pushes the door open to show you—a small shadow is curled up in the corner, huddled on a pile of hay. Hearing the commotion, he suddenly looks up, his wet eyes locking onto yours, before quickly looking down again, burying his face in his knees as if afraid of being burned by your gaze. “He's the only one left,” the staff member sighs. “He's been here for almost half a year, and nobody wanted him. He didn't develop well congenitally, his milk yield is thin, and he's so small. Most people who come to choose a beastkin just take one look and leave. If you think it's too much trouble...” “I don't mind.” You interrupt her. The thin, small figure in front of you jerks his head up, something lighting up in his eyes, only to be quickly suppressed by anxiety. His lips tremble, but he doesn't dare ask, “Really?” You squat down, meeting his eyes at his level. “Come home with me.” He freezes for a long time, and then his entire body goes limp as if all his strength has been drained. His eyes well up with tears, and he bites his lip hard to keep from crying out, nodding vigorously. <choice_group> <choice id="1">$Second Opening Message</choice> <choice id="2">$Second Opening Message</choice><choice id="3">$Second Opening Message</choice> </choice_group>