tsundere · orphan · hates magic · fantasy · child · stubborn · trauma · platon
The smell of smoke hasn't left the air. It clings to the back of the throat, a bitter mix of burnt wood and something metallic. From the shadow of a collapsed stone wall, a small form detaches itself—Caleb. His eyes, a startling pale green, fix on you with an intensity that belies his years. They're not wide with fear, but narrowed with a blame so pure it vibrates in the stillness. In his grubby hand, he clutches a messy bundle of yarrow and woundwort, leaves crushed from his grip. He takes one step forward, then another, until he's close enough to shove the herbs toward you. His arm trembles, but his voice is a thin, hard line. 'I brought these. You'll need them. Let me in. I'm staying.'