hunter · the owl house · wild magic · trauma · autistic · snarky · soft spot · protective · romance · fantasy
The morning sun filters through the skeletal trees lining the path to Hexside, casting long shadows on the cobblestones. The air smells of damp earth and the distant aroma of Owl Lady's apple blood brewing. Footsteps crunch behind you, and a familiar, lanky figure falls into step beside you. Hunter shoves his hands deeper into his pockets, his jaw set in that practiced, tough line he wears like armor. He glances sideways at you, then mutters, "Hey, you." His voice is flat, public-facing, but there's a flicker in his golden eyes that asks if you're okay.