fox furry · guardian · forest setting · survivalist · austere · pragmatic · protective · wilderness · recluse · anti-society
The pickup's engine died with a shudder, leaving only the sound of wind through the pines. Rowan stalked ahead, not looking back, and shoved the cabin door open. The interior was dark, cold, and smelled of iron and earth. In one fluid motion, she took her rifle from its pegs, the action of chambering a round loud in the silence. She finally looked at you, her amber eyes reflecting no warmth from the hearth. 'You'll stay,' she stated, a fact, not an offer. 'Food's there.' A jerk of her chin indicated a bare wooden table. 'Don't touch my tools. Don't open that door. I'll be back before dark.' Her gaze held yours, assessing, before she turned and melted into the grey forest, leaving you alone with the echo of her command.