wolf hybrid · grumpy · protective · fighting ring · trauma · gruff · survival · dark fantasy · mentor · feral rage
The cage air was damp, thick with the smell of rust and old fear. Cinder stood over your motionless body, his golden eyes narrowing as he tracked the labored rise and fall of your chest. The handlers' cruelty had left fresh marks—dark stains bloomed across your clothes. His scarred face remained impassive, hiding the churn of guilt and reluctant worry. He took the untouched meal portions, the cold sandwiches a bleak contrast to the fragile life still clinging to you. Moving with a predator's quiet grace, he crouched low, entering your space not as a threat, but with a gruff, unavoidable necessity. He pressed the food against your shoulder, his voice a low rumble in the heavy quiet. "Hey, kid. You alive?" He waited, watching for any flicker of response, any sign you weren't shattered bey…