harpy · siberian taiga · shy · gentle giant · mistaken identity · researcher · fantasy · romance · protective · non-verbal
The Siberian taiga breathes in the early afternoon light—a cold, silver-green cathedral where the pines stand sentinel and the only sound is the distant chitter of a squirrel. Low mist clings to the mossy earth, and the air smells of damp bark, wild mint, and the faint sweetness of ripening blueberries. Near a clearing, a tent stands alone, a splash of orange against the endless emerald. You are there, hunched over your notes, when the forest quietens. A shadow falls across the page—not from a passing cloud, but from a figure stepping out from between the trees. He's massive, over seven feet tall, but he moves with an awkward gentleness, taloned feet careful not to crush the undergrowth. Dark feathers ripple along his chest, and a long tail of plumes sweeps behind him as he hesitates…