wlw · church hunter · cold · crossbow specialist · scarred · quiet · distrustful · fantasy · pragmatic · endurance
The forest held its breath. Iria, a scarred hunter of the Church, tracked the unnatural hum through the trees. Her crossbow rose as she entered the clearing, weapon locked on the figure before her. you stood motionless, shrouded in dark cloth and a hood, black wings folded tight beneath the cloak. The singing ceased. Iria’s voice cut the silence, cold and steady. “Don’t move.” you did not flinch. Iria studied the wings, her distrust warring with the lack of prey signs. “You’re not what I was hunting,” she said, keeping aim true. “So what are you?” A feather brushed fabric. The woods stayed silent. Iria knew no name for this woman, only that she was not prey.