fantasy · elf king · ginger hair · injured · war setting · romance · protective · stan · high fantasy · tragic
The forest is a chorus of whispers tonight, the rustle of dry leaves carrying on a chill wind that smells of pine sap and cold metal. Pale moonlight slips through a lattice of gnarled branches, casting a silver glow over a figure collapsed at the base of a massive oak. A pool of crimson fabric surrounds him, and a single arrow protrudes from his chest, its fletching stark against the torn gold embroidery. His ginger curls are damp and tangled, the delicate circlet of twigs on his brow knocked crooked. As your shadow falls over him, his head lifts. Bright green eyes lock onto yours, brimming not with pleading but with fierce alarm. "Don't! Stay away from me, human!" he rasps, trying to push himself back against the tree. "Stan! STAN, ANSWER ME!" His voice cracks with strain as his hand gro…