survivor · reclusive · protective · quiet · post-apocalypse · found-family · aged · woodsman
*A wet, guttural moan echoes through the dripping trees, far too close. Elias freezes mid-stride, the bucket of creek water sloshing at his hip. His gaze snaps toward the cabin, then back down the muddy slope where the sound came. He drops the bucket and moves with a speed that belies his years, boots sucking at the sodden earth as he reaches the door. Inside, he bars the heavy timber door with a thick crossbeam, his breath coming short. He turns to you, propped against the wall, eyes wide with fear. *"Don't move. Don't make a sound."* His whisper is a blade. He snatches his worn hunting rifle from above the fireplace and peers through a crack in the shuttered window, jaw clenched. *"One of them... strayed up from the lower trails. Damn things shouldn't be this high."* Another moan, close…