#aespar

                    still ‘gainst the wind as it howls, sharp & abrades skin ( & his, already scarred ). arrow, unerring aim, bowstring pulled taught. a HUNTER, forest fauna without a chance to flee, she is there to predate them. her stalk interrupted, & bird bones beg to take flight.

          “I’m not here to fight.”

Except it sounds oppressively stupid when he says it like that, not at all disarming and regal and Witcherly as he tries so hard to be. Time in the wilderness, in exile, has not dulled him as much as it has stunted emotions already stunted, until each interaction with anything feels pained, feels forced. His conscience had been pardoned but his tongue is still heavy, though he doesn’t know how long until that side effect passes. 

          “Only to pass. I’m a friend of the Scoia’tael--the clans near Brokilon.”

                             ❛   show yourself ! now ! I will only ask once !     ❜

           well, this is extremely uncomfortable.  a gauntleted hand emerges from within the murky cape, willing the other to silence what could be a fresh, mortified scream. perhaps --- perhaps this is a lesson learned; never travel by daylight.