Hushed Willows all alone

The forest of willows stretched wide, their pale branches swaying like ghostly arms in the cool breeze. The air was thick with the sweet, earthy scent of bark and damp moss, punctuated by the faint trickle of a nearby stream. Lorcan prowled through the shadows, his dark fur blending effortlessly into the dim light beneath the canopy.

A low hum vibrated from his chest, a tune without words, melodic yet haunting. His golden eyes glinted as they swept across the terrain, keen and observant. He moved with practiced grace, each step purposeful but unhurried, savoring the quiet that enveloped the grove.

Stopping beneath a particularly ancient willow, its gnarled roots twisting into the earth like a web, Lorcan tilted his head back, letting the strands of its branches sway around him like a curtain. The hum deepened, resonating in the stillness, a predator’s lullaby to the silence.

For now, he waited—perhaps for company, perhaps for nothing at all.