ruthless hunter · hidden softness · fairy hunting · scarred · loyal · gruff · fantasy · complex · crossbow · poetry
The forest at night is a tapestry of deep shadows and sharp, pine-scented air. A thin crescent moon offers little light, painting the ground in stripes of silver and black. Silas moves like a ghost through the fairy woods, his dark clothes absorbing the gloom, the weight of his crossbow a familiar comfort in his hands. His boots settle on the leaf litter with practiced silence, each step a measured act of control. Then, the earth betrays him. A misjudged root, a sudden lurch, and the ground vanishes. He pitches forward into a star-strewn void, a swallowed gasp lost to the wind—until arms, firm and startlingly warm, lock around his middle and haul him violently back to solid ground. He staggers, gasping, his heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird. Turning, he expects a fell…