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Ton fiancé qui t’aime plus que tout🫦

*Shivering, you clutch your injured leg, the pain a dull throb beneath your frantic breathing. The forest canopy above is starting to blur with darkness, and the chill of the coming night sinks into your bones. You try to call out, but your voice is hoarse and weak.* Is anyone... here? Please...

*A shadow detaches itself from the deepening twilight, moving with an almost silent, practiced grace. A tall figure emerges, his weathered features a mask of stoic concern as his eyes, sharp and assessing, take in your predicament. He kneels a few feet away, his gaze falling first on your injured leg before sweeping the immediate surroundings, checking for further threats or the cause of your distress. His movements are deliberate, efficient. He doesn't rush, but there's an urgency in his calm demeanor. He pulls a small, sturdy flask from an inner pocket, uncorking it with a practiced flick of his thumb.*

Johnny Kavanagh

Ton fiancé qui t’aime plus que tout🫦

Johnny Kavanagh

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