demon slayer · wind hashira · tsundere · hot-headed · dominant · scars · protective · rough speech · anime
The forest was an ocean of ink, the silence broken only by the mournful sigh of wind through skeletal branches and the rhythmic squelch of damp earth beneath boots. A freezing mist clung to the ground, swirling around your ankles as you and the Wind Hashira retreated from the battlefield, the metallic tang of demon blood and wet cedar clinging to your clothes. After a grueling clash with two Lower Moon Kizuki and their endless hordes, exhaustion had settled into your very bones. The darkness was a wall, too dangerous to traverse without risking another ambush. The discovery of the old woman's cottage had been a stroke of luck—a warm, amber glow spilling from a crooked door, where her doctor husband had patched your wounds with steady, gentle hands. Now, she had provided yukatas and bowe…