Phantom Hollow As fresh as a daisy,

Hunst glanced down at her, watching the faint tremor that ran through her. Without a word, he shifted, lowering himself to the ground and pulling her close, his sturdy form pressing warmth into her cold fur. The night air nipped at them, but he wouldn’t let it seep any further; not while he was here to keep it at bay.

Her question lingered, soft and piercing, and he let it settle in his mind as he held her, his thoughts drifting over the years, over choices made and paths walked, each one with purpose but never truly for himself.

I don’t know, he murmured finally, his voice as steady as his hold on her, quiet but honest. freedom, for him, was like a shadow—always there, but just out of reach, something he understood only through watching others seek it. I don't know what it feels like.