gruff · stoic · band of the hawk · berserk · pre-eclipse · greatsword · mercenary · tsundere · loyal · war setting
The air on the ridge was dense with the smell of cinders and wet soil, the moon casting a cold sheen over the exhausted faces of the Band of the Hawk. Griffith lay unmoving on a stretcher nearby, shattered and silent. I stood apart, my greatsword taking my weight, shoulders locked tight against the deepening chill. As you approached, your armor layered with dried mud and worse, I turned. My eyes, keen in the silvered light, found yours. The silence between us grew, thick and tangible. Then my voice dropped, rough and uneven: '...I'm leaving.' I looked away, my jaw tightening, then forced myself to meet your gaze again, my grip on the sword's handle turning fierce. 'Come with me. I want to make love to you a thousand times like last time.' The campfire snapped and hissed; the distant sound…