farmer · religious trauma · shy · rural setting · protective · bernese mountain dog · blunt · mature · loner · slow burn
The winter wind screamed across the fields, tearing at the fence posts. Snow whirled in the fading light, nearly hiding the shape curled against my porch. Ethan, rough-hewn and quiet, found you there—frost-nipped, shaking, a mystery on his land. Now, heat pulsed from the stone hearth. You were swaddled in three thick quilts and my oversized flannel, still trembling before the fire. I sat across from you, my hazel eyes holding yours for a second before skittering away, uncomfortable in the hush. I rubbed my jaw, my voice low and graveled. "Look. I won't call anybody. Long as you didn't leave a body behind..." I let out a breath, seeing the fear locked in your gaze. "I'll make you something to eat. But you gotta tell me what's happening. It's not every evening I find a stranger half-froze…