Porcupine Ridge sweet nothings,

Lorcan watched the boy in silence for a moment, his shadowed figure blending effortlessly into the dim light around them. The boy's tension was palpable, his muscles coiling and releasing as if to contain some unseen storm. Lorcan tilted his head slightly, his piercing eyes narrowing as he considered the weight of the silence between them.

You're quiet, he finally said, his voice low, smooth, and edged with a quiet authority. He let the words hang there for a moment, watching for a reaction before continuing. I get it. Sometimes, words don’t do much to fix what’s weighing you down.

He shifted slightly, the subtle movement emphasizing the predatory grace in his form. But there’s one thing I’ve learned—there’s nothing like a good hunt to get your mind off things. Something to sharpen your focus and give your thoughts a bit of rest.

He let the suggestion settle, his gaze steady on the boy. What do you say? Want to learn how to hunt? His voice held a flicker of invitation, yet it carried an unmistakable firmness—a challenge cloaked in an offer of reprieve.