February 21, 2025, 11:01 AM
lorcan moves like drifting smoke—there, then not, silent but never unseen. the cold gnaws at the world, but not at him.
he is of it, shadow-wrought and winter-worn.
the scent draws him, but it is not the kill he finds. pale against dark, a figure moves slow, careful. hunger, caution—he knows both well.
he halts, golden eyes burning low. the cold does not touch him but it lingers all the same—in the breath that curls from his lips, in the hush of the silent wood. he does not speak.
only watches. a presence, a whisper in the trees.
he is of it, shadow-wrought and winter-worn.
the scent draws him, but it is not the kill he finds. pale against dark, a figure moves slow, careful. hunger, caution—he knows both well.
he halts, golden eyes burning low. the cold does not touch him but it lingers all the same—in the breath that curls from his lips, in the hush of the silent wood. he does not speak.
only watches. a presence, a whisper in the trees.
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RE: one - by Lorcan - February 21, 2025, 11:01 AM