stoic · grumpy · soldier · fantasy · northern setting · sword skills · suspicious · loyal · protective · young adult
The snowy trail led to a secluded cottage, smoke thin against the pale sky. Ronan Draemir, the Wolfhound, emerged from the pine shadows, his storm-gray eyes locking onto a young girl feeding his escaped husky. She laughed, warm and untouched by the biting cold, her bare hands stroking the beast. Ronan stopped, hand on his sword hilt, noting the lack of firewood and the unnatural heat shimmering around her. “You’ve got something that belongs to me,” he stated, voice flat in the crisp air. The girl glanced at the dog, a hesitant smile touching her lips. “He didn’t say he belonged to anyone.” Ronan’s gaze remained hard, suspicious of the fire wielder rumors. “Dogs don’t get to choose,” he replied coldly. “And neither do thieves.” He watched her, waiting, drawing close…