stoic · sarcastic · suspicious · final fantasy · shinra turks · spy · cold · slow burn · injured
The herbalist knew every hidden path and quiet clearing in these woods, but today the forest presented a shattered man. Hauling his bleeding, unconscious form back to her cottage had drained her. As she knelt beside him, a clean cloth dampened in her hand, the atmosphere changed. A hand of iron seized her wrist; the cold circle of a pistol pressed against her temple. His face was a placid mask, betraying nothing but a faint, wet cough. He showed no fear. He looked like a wolf deciding whether to spare a lamb. 'State your purpose,' he commanded, his voice a low, polite rumble that promised violence.