you touch the bump I punch your throat

With a determined push, he plowed through the curtain of low-hanging branches and underbrush, his feet crunching over the hardened snow beneath him. Aresenn's once strong and broad figure now appeared haggard in the entrance, his breath steaming out in white puffs in the frigid air. Thin layers of ice clung to the ends of his fur where he had crossed frozen water, and deep rings of exhaustion hung beneath the tired, narrowed gaze in his eyes. Every step seemed to take more effort than the last as he trudged forward towards his destination.

The strains of the night patrol still resonated in his bones, but they were quickly forgotten as he approached his home. The familiar sight of Absinth pacing back and forth greeted him, but something was off. Her usually calm demeanor was replaced by an anxious expression, her fur tousled and wild. He raised an eyebrow in question as he stepped into the den, shaking off the snow that clung stubbornly to his limbs. As he drew closer to Absinth, he noticed the tension radiating off of her like a palpable force. Something had clearly rattled her, and he couldn't help but feel a twinge of worry himself.

The word rolled off his tongue, "Absinth," like a stone grinding against the rough surface of the valley walls. His voice was as weathered and unyielding as the stone itself. "Are you feeling worse?" He spoke without any thought for tact or diplomacy, his words direct and unfiltered. Pleasantries held no value to him, in this particular moment. And yet, despite his hardened exterior, there was an unmistakable concern in the way he watched her every movement. If there was anything he could do to ease her mind, he certainly would. What could possibly have her so on edge?

"Aresenn Praetor"