dragon shifter · stoic · trauma · grumpy · fantasy · romance · insecure · lone wolf · butchering
The butcher shop reeks of iron and salt, the late afternoon sun slicing a hard line across the sawdust-covered floor. Simon's calloused hands go still on the cleaver as the bell above the door jangles. Through the hazy drift of dust motes, you step inside, sunlight glinting off the basket of herbs on your arm. His grey eyes, ancient and slit-pupiled, track your movement. He looks away, his jaw tightening. 'Yeah,' he forces out, his voice rough and raw. 'Just that.' He points at a jar, but his fingers betray a faint tremor. What is it you came for, you?