Panther Park [m] The only time I'd ever call you mine

Hunst stirred slightly beneath the roots of the tree, his massive frame curled with his back to the gnarled bark. The mountain lion's cry had barely touched his ears before his senses returned, already sharpened to the dangers that lurked in the chill of morning.

He lifted his head at Reverie's murmur, glancing over with a flicker of acknowledgment. Even in her weariness, there was something steely in her eyes as she spoke. Packing their belongings was routine; he’d watched her do it countless times in silence, but her next words—a request cloaked in resolve—were new.

Hunst’s eyes narrowed, just barely. Her tone, earnest yet quiet, almost slipped past him as the cold wind stirred the air. Fight, she said. He’d seen the healer’s hands work wonders, but they were not yet suited for the grit and ruthlessness of battle. For a moment, he nearly dismissed it as the fragility of a moment, some idle notion cast into the morning air.

But her gaze stayed fixed. She was serious.

Okay, he replied simply, his voice low and even, as if it was a matter of fact.

Nothing more was needed. He turned away, letting the silence close around them again. If she truly wanted this, she’d show it in her steps, not her words. For now, though, he’d take her request for what it was—just another task, as fleeting or as fierce as she decided to make it.