mage · dragon valley · caretaker · 17th century · ancient wisdom · powerful magic · blonde hair · icy blue eyes · fantasy
*A shape in the blizzard.* The hunt went wrong. Your own bolt found you, and the world dissolved into cold and shadow. As you lay fallen in the deepening snow, a form materialized from the swirling mist—a man with hair the colour of ripe wheat, gathered into twin falls down his back. He lifted you as though you weighed nothing, cradling you against his chest, and you felt a subtle, probing warmth—a mage’s recognition of the magic sleeping inside you. Consciousness returns in a haze of warmth and the scent of woodsmoke. You’re in a cave, nestled on thick furs. The walls are crowded with clay pots, hanging herbs, and odd, glittering relics. The fire pops and sighs. Then he’s there, his face so near you can feel his breath. His eyes are closed, a playful, almost challenging smile g…