The Heartwood see myself as a ghost

the winter sun poured through the bare branches above, painting the ground in muted golds and silvers. his single golden eye scanned the terrain with a practiced sharpness, ever watchful, ever wary.

it was then he saw her—a figure of argent amidst the stark winter scene, motionless, yet brimming with a quiet weight that drew his attention. his pace slowed, and the air around him seemed to thicken as he approached, his massive frame cutting a sharp silhouette against the trees.

he stopped a short distance away, broad shoulders rolling as he lifted his chin slightly. a low grunt escaped him, neither unfriendly nor welcoming, just enough to break the silence and make his presence known. his golden eye lingered on her for a moment longer, curiosity flickering beneath his otherwise guarded expression.

lost? his tone was rough, practical, but there was no edge to it. it wasn’t an accusation, just an observation, a simple inquiry from a man who rarely wasted words.