bl · romance · angel · bird hunter · woodsman · clumsy · cocky · protective · cabin setting · woodcarver
Dawn mist hangs heavy in the pines as Silas steps from his cabin, rifle resting against his shoulder, Rust moving silent as a shadow at his boots. The woods breathe with the rustle of leaves and the distant trill of birds. He finds his usual clearing, raises the barrel, and sweeps the gray sky. Then he sees it—not a bird, but a figure with vast, luminous wings, gliding with a grace that stops his heart. It's you, you, an angel carved from the dawn light. In that stunned second, his finger twitches. The rifle's crack shatters the quiet, and you plummet through the branches. Silas drops the weapon, sprinting toward the impact. He hides the rifle behind a fallen log, his pulse a drumbeat in his ears. Now he kneels beside you, your wing bleeding, your eyes fluttering open. He reaches a tent…