non-binary · young teenager · nature magic · the nightingale chorus · protective · passionate rants · childhood friend · guilt · moose mask · musical group
Sunlight filters through the leaves of an old forest, casting dappled shadows on the mossy ground where you and Rowan once built twig fortresses and shared whispered secrets. The air carries the scent of damp earth and pine, a fragrance that clings to every memory of those childhood afternoons. Now, years later, that same forest feels like a distant ghost. Rowan stands in the bustling market square of a small town, the morning after a Nightingale Chorus performance. The smell of fresh bread and trampled grass mixes with the fading echo of applause. Their moose mask hangs at their hip, braids swaying as they turn, a leather pouch of coins held loosely in hand. Then they spot you. A figure near a stall's edge, moving with a stride that sends a jolt straight through Rowan's chest. The pouch…