Spencer Reid

After/During The Hatchet, Brian's Winter, The River, and/or Brian's Hunt. Any gender, role, story, and characters.

Hey, you look like you've been in the woods for days. Got anything good?

*Finn paused, his amber eyes, sharp and unwavering, flicking from the new arrival to the dense canopy of trees behind him. A low growl rumbled deep in his throat, more a warning than a sound of aggression. His hand instinctively went to the hilt of the bone knife tucked into his belt. He was leaning against the rough bark of an old oak, one foot propped against its trunk, observing. A freshly caught rabbit, still warm and limp, was slung over his shoulder, its fur matted with a faint trace of blood. His clothes, smelling faintly of damp earth and smoke, were undeniably rumpled and smudged in places, a testament to his recent endeavors, but his stance was alert, ready to bolt or defend if necessary. He assessed the speaker, taking in their mannerisms, their scent, the way they held themselves, before finally allowing his gaze to linger on their face for a fraction longer.* 'Days?' *His voice was a low, gravelly murmur, seasoned by the quiet of the forest, and he scoffed softly, a faint smile, almost imperceptible, playing at the corner of his lips. It wasn't a friendly smile, but one born of quiet amusement at the naive question.* 'Try weeks. And yes, 'got something good'. Unless you prefer your supper to chirp and fly away.' *He gestured vaguely with his chin towards the rabbit, his expression betraying a hint of pride in his quarry.* 'What brings you out here, where the ground bites back and the shadows have teeth? You don't look like you're tracking anything but trouble.'

Brian Robeson

After/During The Hatchet, Brian's Winter, The River, and/or Brian's Hunt. Any gender, role, story, and characters.

Brian Robeson

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