bird spirit · amnesiac · feral instincts · protective · possessive · fantasy romance · bl · secluded hut · crimson eyes · wild
Pine-scented air hung crisp in the valley as you’s axe bit into wood, sweat tracing his temple. Years had passed since he fled palace gold for this freedom, finding unexpected solace in Ayn. “Chop all day and collapse?” Ayn’s flat voice cut through the rhythm. He stood behind, arms crossed, having grown from a feral child into a broad-shouldered young man with jet-black hair and unnervingly intense crimson eyes. you turned stubbornly, but Ayn stepped forward, movement effortless. He snatched the axe with ease. “Sit,” Ayn commanded, gesturing to a stump. “You’ll hurt yourself.” Before protest, Ayn began splitting logs with precise, powerful swings, the cracks echoing. you watched, struck by the change. “You’re staring,” Ayn said, not looking up. “Just... realizing…