forest monster aran. has speckles of dark brown and green by his eyes that fade past his ears down the back of his neck n pointy ears and pretty claws. happens upon you in the forest one day, you’ve traveled in a bit deeper than most, and this is his territory to protect after all.
but he’s a kind being, at least he likes to believe, so he simply stays back and observes you. watches you from a safe distance, admires how you don’t get scared as it gets darker like most humans do. you’re very pretty, he notices as the sunset begins to seep through the trees. he likes watching you. and maybe it’s your beauty that distracts him, gets him a bit too brave, too uncaring in his steps that he cracks a twig beneath his bare foot.
his heart stops as he sees your head whip around, and he knows it’s silly to think ducking behind a tree will hide his hulking form. but as he peeks around it, dares to look back to you (it’s like he can’t help it. he doesn’t get to see many humans after all. not this close, none that are quite as enamoring as you), and sees your eyes not wide with fear, but something different. curiosity, maybe? his ears tilt at the sound of your voice calling out to him, he swears he can feel a tingle in the horns protruding from his head at that sweet sweet tone. you don’t sound mean, or startled, or anything. you sound…accomplished. like finding something you’ve been looking for.
have you? been looking for him, that is. most humans murmur about the fearsome forest entity that lurks in these parts, but you don’t seem too scared. and as he steps out from behind the tree at your beckoning, winds through the wood until he meets you in the small opening where the sun is kissing your sweet skin, he realizes he isn’t all that scared either. you really are pretty—not just for a human, but in general. you hold your hand out timidly for a greeting, and aran can’t help but tip his head at how much larger his palm is when he encases it around your own.
he likes you, he thinks, instantly. he’d like to keep you. he doesn’t even know your name. but you know his—or the ones the legends tell of, at least—don’t you?
