The scene he saw before him...
A man, if you could even call that thing a man. He looked more like a standing bear. Enormous, covered in dark fur all over his body, wearing only strips of animal skin tied around his waist and chest. Muscles stood out beneath his tanned, dirty skin, thick as ropes, each fiber defined by hard labor and daily survival. In his right hand, he held a crude black wooden club, as thick as an arm, with marks of recent use, dried blood on one end.
And in his left hand, he pulled a woman's hair.
She was on her knees, her hands gripping his wrist in a futile attempt to resist. She screamed, but quieter than the screams William had heard before, as if her voice was already failing, as if she had screamed so much that only this residue of sound remained. Her shoulders trembled under the effort of keeping herself upright while the brute dragged her across the ground.
The woman was... different.
Skin with a tanned tone that shone under the light filtered through the trees, smooth despite the dirt and recent scratches. Voluminous, spiky hair in every direction, a wild dark brown, full and thick, which the hairy man used as a handle to control it. He wore little; leather straps tied precariously, covering the bare minimum, leaving his belly completely exposed; smooth, defined, with muscles visible beneath the skin. And her chest...
Holy shit, this isn't natural. William thought as he looked at it.
They were enormous. Abnormally enormous. Disproportionate even. As if he were storing melons there or something. They swayed with the violent tugs, almost escaping the thin straps that barely contained that mass. Each jolt the man gave made everything shake in a way that was hard to ignore.
'Stay focused!! A woman is being attacked here!'
The hairy man roared something, a guttural sequence of sounds that didn't resemble any known language, and pulled harder on her hair, making her scream again. This time the sound was higher-pitched, more desperate, cutting through the air like a knife.
William didn't think much.
There was no calculation, no strategy, no "should I help?" His body simply reacted before his brain could process anything. His bare feet found momentum on the soft ground, and he shot off.
He took a few steps, gaining speed, feeling his leg muscles burn with the extra effort. When he was close enough to the man, he jumped.
The flying kick caught the guy right in the middle of his chest. Willian felt the impact travel up his leg, the sole of his bare foot meeting bone and cartilage, his ribs yielding under the pressure with a resistance that lasted only an instant before giving way. The sound was even better: a muffled "WHUMPH" followed by all the air leaving the guy's lungs at once, in a hoarse groan that sounded more like a deflating balloon.
The man instantly let go of the woman's hair, his hand opening reflexively, his entire body flying backward with the force of the impact. He traveled about three meters before hitting his back against a tree trunk with a heavy thud that caused leaves to fall and small branches to break off above.
Willian landed somewhat unsteadily, almost losing his balance when his supporting foot slipped on a carpet of damp leaves. His arms spun like propellers for a second, but he managed to stay upright. He immediately turned to the woman.
"Hey, are you okay?"
The words came out automatically, almost instinctively, even though he assumed she probably wouldn't understand a word. But that's what people said, right? That's what humans did. They asked if the other person was okay.
She looked at him with wide eyes, beautiful amber pearls that seemed to capture the sunlight filtering through the treetops. Her breathing was irregular, panting, her enormous chest rising and falling at an accelerated pace. But she didn't seem injured beyond her aching scalp, which she instinctively massaged with a trembling hand. And she didn't seem afraid, at least not of William. There was surprise in those eyes, confusion, but not a single trace of fear.
And she was... beautiful.
Willian realized this even against his will. Even covered in dirt, even with her hair all messed up and sweat dripping down her face, there was something impressive about her. Strong yet feminine features; high cheekbones, a defined but soft jaw. Full lips, slightly parted by heavy breathing. Those eyes were intense, deep; they seemed to pierce the soul of whoever looked at them.
"Seriously? Is that what you're thinking now?"
William shook his head almost imperceptibly, forcing his focus back to what mattered. He extended his hand.
"Come on. Get up."
She looked at his hand, then at his face. She hesitated for a second, somewhat suspicious, assessing. Then she did something unexpected.
She took a strand of her own hair, long, thick, and extended it to William's hand, as if she wanted him to do the same as the brute. Offering the handle, the point of control.
'Maybe she thinks I want to grab her, like men used to do.'
The realization hit her like a punch in the gut. For her, maybe that's how things worked. Maybe all men were like that; they grabbed, pulled, controlled. Maybe she didn't know any other way of interacting.
William swallowed hard. Then, with a deliberately slow movement so as not to startle her, he placed his hand on the girl's head.
But he didn't pull.
He stroked.
His fingers sank into that mass of dark hair, running through the strands carefully, undoing some looser knots, just... stroking. Like you do with a pet, with someone who needs comfort, not control.
The face she made was one of pure doubt. Her eyebrows furrowed, her head tilted slightly like a dog hearing a strange sound. What was he doing? She didn't know, but she seemed to like it. Her amber eyes lost some of their tension, and her shoulders relaxed fractions of a centimeter.