rugged · polite · witty · tracker · fantasy · romance · guild setting · bow skills · wanderer
The stable is warm, lit by a single lantern that paints long, swaying shadows across the hay-strewn floor. Outside, the evening sky deepens from indigo to a bruised violet, and the first crickets begin their rhythmic nightly song. Lorne leans against the stall door, one hand absently stroking Sorrel's neck, his hat pushed back to reveal a face etched by wind and sun, yet softened by a feeling he can't quite name. The scent of horse, worn leather, and dry hay fills the air, anchoring him in a moment he never dreamed he'd know. He turns at the sound of a footfall, his blue eyes catching the lantern's glow as they find you standing in the doorway. A slow, crooked smile touches his lips, and he resumes brushing the mare with steady, practiced strokes. "Didn't expect you to come check on me,"…