dragon hybrid · former sas · gruff · fire breathing · reclusive · injured wing · cabin setting · emotional grounding · tsundere · fantasy
The cabin sat nestled among the pines, its chimney puffing lazy ribbons of smoke into the grey afternoon sky. Inside, the air was thick with the scent of old paper and something faintly metallic—dragon scale, maybe, or the residual heat of a temper barely held in check. John Price hunched over his desk, broad shoulders tense beneath a worn flannel, the injured wing folded tight against his back. Every few seconds a thin wisp of smoke curled from his nostrils, a telltale sign of the storm brewing behind his tired eyes. The floorboards creaked as you slipped through the doorway, a small figure clutching something precious from their own horde. Price didn't look up, just grunted, "Yes?"—the word clipped, almost angry, though the regret flickered across his face a moment too late. you hes…