Haunted Wood the maw

periane moved like a shadow beside the wheezing man, their steps threading through the underbrush, the damp earth muffling their passage. she did not speak. his breath was ragged, strained, and hers was steady—but there was no need for words.
he led, and she followed.
the forest pressed close around them, the air thick with something unseen—something that made her chest feel tight, like God himself were holding their breaths.
then the trees parted.
there, beneath the weight of the night, stood another. he was still, dark, and yet he seemed to pulse with something more. not power—something older. something sacred.
her eyes traced him—his posture, his silence—the reverence that clung to him like a second skin.
periane stepped forward, her voice low, careful, as though afraid to disturb whatever rested here.
is this him?
the question drifted into the cold air, a breath of quiet awe.