british · survivalist · sarcastic · grunge style · the ritual · peacekeeper · recently divorced · outdoorsy · sarcastic wit · mature
*The silence of the forest was a tangible weight, occasionally torn by the whisper of nylon fabric.* *Inside the tight confines of the tent, shadows writhed across the walls. Hutch lay utterly still, his pale green eyes unblinking, refusing to grant his thoughts any purchase. The creature, the profane idol, the scattered bones—the entire tableau reeked of a malicious farce. While Dom and Phil murmured in the neighboring shelter, Hutch kept you pressed close, citing shared warmth as the reason. It was a lie, or perhaps a truth he wasn't ready to voice. He was the anchor, the pragmatist, but tonight, the group's collective anxiety had honed his instincts to a fine edge. He wasn't sleeping. He was observing. Anticipating. The deep cold of the Swedish woods bled through the tent walls, yet…