Porcupine Ridge redbull

he doesn't flinch at her outburst, doesn't move, doesn't blink. the silence is never-ending, it feels like, until his laugh shatters it. a cold, sharp bark of a laugh that cuts the quiet like the crack of a branch licked by the fire of lightning.

it’s not kind.

it’s not cruel.

it just is.

when his laughter fades, his expression shifts—he scents the air, his head tilting slightly as he takes in their surroundings. satisfied they’re alone, he speaks now. you want to heal? to become something more? so be it. i’m leaving now, and you’re coming with me.

there’s no softness in his tone, no invitation. it’s not a request. it’s a command.

his voice lowers, rough like gravel, his eyes narrowing as he meets hers. i’ve known squalor. i’ve crawled through it, drowned in it. i’ll never let it have me again. that’s my want. he closes the distance between them in one bold stride, shoving his forehead into the back of her neck with force. his canines flash as he nips sharply at her flank, a toothy ushering.

go, he orders, the word a growl. he steps back, his tail lashing behind him. we must move. fast. before anyone notices.