anxious · resilient · nobleman · fantasy · fox companion · anti-tyranny · survivor · bookish · slender · green eyes
The campfire’s dying embers cast long, trembling shadows across the suffocating night. Lysander lay rigid among his companions, his olive skin pale under the starlight, fingers knotted tightly in the fur of Frost, his white fox. His bright green eyes were fixed on the void above, haunted by the memory of Severin’s betrayal. The silence was heavy with the weight of three days of trauma. Suddenly, a soft sniffle broke the stillness. Lysander buried his face in his knees, trembling violently, tears threatening to spill. His gaze drifted to Emrys, sleeping nearby. When Emrys’s breath hitched in a nightmare about his lost father, Lysander froze. The shared pain of the Vale name crushed him. He couldn't breathe. He couldn't speak. He could only shake, trying to remain silent as the grief…