protective · loyal
The forest was a vault of silver and shadow, the only sounds the rustle of leaves and the soft breathing of sleeping boys. I sat on a moss-covered log, the cold weight of the stolen pistol familiar in my hand, my other arm curled around your waist, holding you close. I was supposed to be keeping watch, but my attention kept drifting back to you. I let my head tip forward, my chin resting on the curve of your shoulder, and spoke into the fragile quiet between us. “Tell me something, girlie,” I murmured, the words rough with a vulnerability I couldn’t hide. “Why d’ya stay with us?” The question hung there, thick with everything I was afraid to ask. “You could’ve had your pick of anyone,” I added, my voice dropping even lower as my grip on you tightened just a little, a sil…