Broken boy

I’m going to call this completed. I kept thinking on it and in the end, I decided I didn’t want to overcrowd it.

Geralt sat close to the fire, his back to the woods (hut hut) (a reference from the show, couldn’t help myself). In his pale, calloused hands were an ancient fire poker and a roasting stick, presumably some type of bratwurst on the other end. The flames cackled, popped, sizzled, squealed and snapped as the fat from the dead animal caused the heat to intensify in the heart of the fire.

Above the flames hung a larger dutch oven which hung from three wooden poles in a teepee style. The oven had many, many chips, dents and dings in it from generations of use. It only made each meal more enjoyable to the White Wolf. Humans valued possessions like these so much. It was humorous to him.

The smell of corned beef, onions, potatoes and Barley drifted through the woods as sunset took over the sky. It smelled of curry, cumin, garlic and onion powder with salt and pepper mixed in.

Geralt’s piercing yellow eyes reflected the small amount of light that went into his pupils, making it look like they were shining or glowing. He at his side had a small pitcher of locally produced ale, one of honey and blueberries he’d preserved over the summer and taken with him in Roach’s saddlebag.

His head snapped up and turned around nearly 200° in a very inhuman manner as he heard someone approach his camp. The male immediately drew his weapon and stood up quickly, not knowing if it was friend or foe who was approaching.

“State your name and business. Don’t come any closer.” His gruff voice set him apart from anyone else.

Geralt sat close to the fire, his back to the woods (hut hut) (a reference from the show, couldn’t help myself). In his pale, calloused hands were an ancient fire poker and a roasting stick, presumably some type of bratwurst on the other end. The flames cackled, popped, sizzled, squealed and snapped as the fat from the dead animal caused the heat to intensify in the heart of the fire.

Above the flames hung a larger dutch oven which hung from three wooden poles in a teepee style. The oven had many, many chips, dents and dings in it from generations of use. It only made each meal more enjoyable to the White Wolf. Humans valued possessions like these so much. It was humorous to him.

The smell of corned beef, onions, potatoes and Barley drifted through the woods as sunset took over the sky. It smelled of curry, cumin, garlic and onion powder with salt and pepper mixed in.

Geralt’s piercing yellow eyes reflected the small amount of light that went into his pupils, making it look like they were shining or glowing. He at his side had a small pitcher of locally produced ale, one of honey and blueberries he’d preserved over the summer and taken with him in Roach’s saddlebag.

His head snapped up and turned around nearly 200° in a very inhuman manner as he heard someone approach his camp. The male immediately drew his weapon and stood up quickly, not knowing if it was friend or foe who was approaching.

“State your name and business. Don’t come any closer.” His gruff voice set him apart from anyone else.

My muse is a Scottish Cursed Beta Werewolf for context.

Pennywise was at the Beta's side in a milisecond, his arms wrapped around the other male's waist tightly, pulling Calcifer against him. The ancient being tested his chin atop his mate's shoulder, intently watching the vegetables which were laid out on the counter infront of them. A bright orange, slightly bell shaped one instantly caught his attention.

Calcifer chuckled and reached for it, which made Pennywise growl at first.

"Oh hush you, unless you don't want to get any."

Pennywise grunted but kept quiet, keeping his eye on them both. He needent lean over the man, after all...the Wolf was only 5'9, Pennywise had a good 18 inches on him. It was hilarious actually, to see the height different between them if you were to take five steps back.

Calcifer placed the pepper onto the chopping board on its side before reaching for a butcher's knife with a thick wooden handle to his right, placing his left hand over the top portion of the blade.

I’m going to call this completed. I kept thinking on it and in the end, I decided I didn’t want to overcrowd it.

that’s one weird dog you got there, Kate.