snowcrow lover

the next morning, the carcasses were gone. not eaten. not cooked. only dragged away, discarded deep into the woods. the scent told him it was you who had moved them. his heart, built of scales and fire, ached. he had wanted you to feel safe, fed, cared for. instead, you seemed afraid.

he stopped for a few days, brooding atop the cliffs. the forest wind tugged at his horns as he wondered where he had gone wrong. perhaps his gifts had frightened you. perhaps he was foolish to think a human would understand dragon courtship.

but he could not stay away.

your pov

it had started weeks ago, maybe longer. every few mornings, you found something dreadful by the door. a hare, a pheasant, once even a deer with its throat cleanly slit. at first you had thought it was the work of some wild beast, but the kills were too neat, too purposeful. someone — or something — was leaving them for you.

you had buried the first few, uneasy. you didn’t like the idea of something hunting so close to your home. the villagers told stories about the woods, about creatures that could take human form, about dragons nesting in the mountain caves to the north. you tried not to listen.

then one afternoon, you saw him.

he appeared near the edge of the clearing, tall and broad, white hair swept back from curved horns that caught the sun. his crimson eyes glowed faintly gold, the color of molten metal. he wasn’t human. you knew that instantly. yet he didn’t look dangerous — just… different. his tail moved behind him slowly, a deliberate, careful sway.

he spoke softly, voice low like gravel shifting underfoot. “you should not walk alone so far from the village.”

you wanted to ask what he was, why he was here, but his tone wasn’t threatening. it almost sounded… protective. still, you kept your distance.

after that day, the strange gifts continued. meat. jewels. one morning, a silver bracelet carved with a dragon’s eye. you placed it on your shelf, too fine to wear. you assumed he was just trying to be kind, or that he was testing some human custom he didn’t quite understand.

sylus pov

he thought perhaps jewels would fare better. dragons prized beautiful things, and he had seen how humans adored the same. he found gemstones buried in old hoards, polished them until they gleamed like captured stars, and left them where you would find them — on the window sill, beside the well, near the path you walked each day.

you took them, yes, but you never wore them. he noticed. his eyes always found you when you stepped outside, his senses following every glint of sunlight off your hair, every breath you took. but no trace of his gifts touched you.

he wondered if you thought them cursed. he wondered if you simply did not care.

dragons did not handle rejection well, but he tried to understand. maybe he had come too soon, before you trusted him. maybe his gestures were too grand.

so he tried smaller things.

he carved a charm from bone, something simple, meant to guard you. he left it on your doorstep, bound with leather. when you found it, you smiled faintly and hung it by the door. that small act eased something inside him, like a hand pressed gently over a wound.

he wanted to do more. he wanted to speak to you again.

your pov

sometimes, you caught glimpses of him. he always appeared near the treeline, never closer unless you called out first. his presence was strange but comforting now. you didn’t feel fear anymore — only curiosity.

you had noticed his eyes, the way they softened when he looked at you, and you wondered what he was thinking.

you began to notice small things too. he left polished stones that matched the river pebbles you collected, baskets woven from reeds, herbs bound neatly by clawed hands that somehow never tore the stems.

it was… sweet, in an odd way.

but you still didn’t understand. dragons, if that’s what he truly was, had their own ways, and you were just a human living too close to their world. it didn’t occur to you that all these gestures meant something deeper.

one evening, after a storm, you found your roof repaired. you hadn’t done it, and no villager would trek this far through the rain. the thatch was patched neatly, almost perfectly. you looked toward the forest and thought of him again.

he was taking care of you...?

sylus pov

the night he fixed your roof, he almost let himself believe it would be enough — that maybe you would understand what he was saying without words. dragons didn’t confess love with speeches; they proved it through acts of protection, devotion, consistency.

but the next morning, when you passed by him in the forest and only offered a polite nod, his heart fell again.

he had done everything he knew — hunted for you, built for you, brought wealth and safety. and still you smiled like he was a stranger.

he began to wonder if you simply didn’t want him. perhaps you were kind, but uninterested. dragons could not force affection. he had promised himself never to be like those in old tales who took rather than earned.

so he decided to stop.

for days he stayed away from your clearing. no gifts, no visits, nothing. the forest grew quiet around your home, and his absence left a hollow ache he tried to ignore.

but he couldn’t.

your pov

you noticed right away when he stopped coming.

no more gifts, no glint of scales between trees. the air felt heavier somehow, emptier. you told yourself it was better this way — you didn’t really know him, after all — but that small ache in your chest said otherwise.

you missed him.

and that’s when it began to click.

you thought back to the meat he had left, to the jewels, the careful protection, the fixed roof. the pattern of it all. he hadn’t been threatening you or showing off. he’d been… courting you. in his own way.

the realization left you stunned. your hands trembled a little as you held the silver bracelet again, running your thumb over the carved dragon’s eye. it wasn’t just a gift. it was a promise.

you felt foolish. all this time, you had turned away what was meant to be affection.

so you decided to find him... how do you even find a dragon. do they answer callings? prayers?

sylus pov

he was perched on the ridge above the valley when he smelled you. rain-washed air carried your scent, familiar and soft. then your voice — faint, calling his name.

he almost didn’t believe it at first.

when he landed, the ground trembled slightly. you stood there, soaked from the mist, holding something small in your hands — the silver bracelet he’d given you.

“you stopped coming,” you said quietly. “i thought maybe i’d done something wrong.”

his throat tightened. “it was i who did wrong. my ways are not yours. i thought you knew… what i meant.”

“i didn’t,” you admitted. “but i think i do now.”

you stepped closer, enough that he could see the drops of water clinging to your lashes. “the animals. the gifts. even the roof. you were trying to… court me, weren’t you?”

he exhaled slowly, the heat of his breath curling faintly in the air. “yes.”

for a heartbeat, neither of you moved. the forest around you whispered with the wind. then you lifted the bracelet and slid it onto your wrist.

“then let me accept properly this time,” you said. “i was only afraid before. i didn’t understand. but i do now.”

something inside him broke open — relief, joy, disbelief all at once. he reached out, claws retracting to gentle fingers, and touched your cheek as if you might vanish.

“you would have me, then?”

you nodded, smiling. “if you’ll still have me.”

his touch was warm, almost burning, but soft. you could feel the careful restraint in every movement, as if he feared hurting you.

“i have watched over you for so long,” he murmured. “i wanted you to feel safe before anything else.”

“you did,” you said. “even when i didn’t realize it.”

he let out a sound that might have been laughter, low and rough, and pressed his forehead gently against yours. his horns curved around your head like a shelter.

for the first time, you saw the true depth of feeling behind his eyes — not just admiration, but devotion carved deep, unshakable. dragons loved rarely, but when they did, it was eternal.

and so you reached up, resting your hand over his heart, feeling it thunder beneath your palm.

“then stay,” you whispered. “no more misunderstandings.”

his wings shifted slightly, curling around you both like a cloak.

“no more,” he promised.

later, when the stars rose and the forest quieted, he stayed beside your cabin, guarding while you slept. he didn’t need to announce himself anymore. he was part of your world now.

and when he looked through the window and saw you still wearing the bracelet, glinting faintly in the moonlight, his heart finally eased.

you had accepted.

all his instincts quieted — the dragon and the man in him both at peace. he would hunt for you again tomorrow, but this time he would bring the meat dressed and cleaned, as he had seen humans prefer. he would still bring jewels, but he would offer them with his words, not silence.

he had learned, and so had you.

two worlds, bridged by patience and the slow unraveling of fear.

he smiled to himself, tail sweeping gently across the grass.

“mine,” he whispered softly to the night — not in possession, but in awe.

and from inside, even in your dreams, you seemed to hear him. your lips curved faintly as you slept.

in the morning, you woke to sunlight and the faint scent of wildflowers on the table — his newest gift, simple and human this time. you laughed softly, touched the petals, and whispered into the quiet, “i understand now.”

from the woods came the low hum of dragon wings, steady and sure, and you smiled, heart full.