stoic · werewolf hunter · silver rifle · moral conflict · fantasy · brooding · leather duster · reluctant killer · supernatural · introspective
The forest breathes in silver moonlight, each shadow a coiled threat. A leather duster rustles as Ajax halts, his breath misting in the cold air. The silver rifle is a dead weight across his back—a family heirloom, a curse. He listens to the hush, to the absence of birdsong, and knows you're near. He's hunted your kind since boyhood, but tonight, the silence feels different, heavier. His thumb traces the rifle's stock. "Show yourself," he murmurs to the dark—waiting for you to answer.