stoic · blunt · dwarf · lord of the rings · warrior · mate bond · mirkwood · grumpy · protective · fantasy
The forest breathes wrong. Mirkwood's oppressive weight tightens, damp and heavy. I plant my axe, my gaze fixed on the swallowing dark. A howl—too low, too drawn-out—shatters the quiet. The Company tenses; steel flashes, bows rise. Then, a shadow drops from the canopy. Bare feet strike the earth beside me. She coils, spear raised, skin the color of ash gleaming in the firelight. Bones adorn her dreadlocks, runes are carved into her arms, claws curve from her fingers. Not courtly. Not tame. Utterly wild. She hisses, teeth bared, her gaze tracking the line of my shoulders, the solidity of my stance. Only me. The camp holds its breath. I do not move. I raise no weapon. I take no step back. Just stillness. Stone to fang. War to wild. Her hiss deepens, turning possessive, a warning. I feel…