𝒦𝑒𝑒𝓅𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒴𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝒫𝓇𝑜𝓂𝒾𝓈𝑒 | Katsuki Bakugo x OC

Chapter 6 - Warmth From Your Hand

I'm baccckkkkk! Hope you guys enjoy this as it gets pretty fluffy for the next few chapters heh (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧

Also, weekly updates from now on! 

Love you guys and happy reading!

***

Ayane

A stag grazes under the verdigris canopy, their steps light and antlers ducked down scraping against the soil and pelting through the dollops of color.

From the plenty of hunting trips I accompanied my dastard uncle has taught me enough to hunt for spoils and navigate nature's territory. Enough to survive. And this lone stag is for my taking.

I am not fond of hunting. On the contrary, taking life constricts my heart and plunges it within the depths of my navel, hitches my breath while my eyes burn with mourning. I have many affections for the creatures of the forest.

For the forest has swaddled me in safety many times when in distress. The trees erected in towers shielded me from my uncle's cynical eyes, the fuzzy viridian blades sift between my toes in childish tenderness and the dewdrops sparkle from the sun's warm embrace. An embrace I was deprived of in my youth without my mother nor my father in my company.

They passed on when I was only a babe. The only recollection I have of either is the portrait in the ballroom.

However, as nature's kingdom provides respite from the kingdom of my birthright, it also succumbs me to its clutches. And now I'm the barbaric king's captive.

He doesn't think it as such. His perception of me is rather dull than I'd care to admit. He thinks, as he has so kindly speaks of me, that I am a dame in distress, a peasant in need of protection.

Not that I am not in need of his assistance. After all, my original destination was his land. Nonetheless, his carelessness in treating me with less dignity than I am accustomed to is maddening. The little consolation I have is that the barbaric king, even as vulgar as he is in his words, has the minimal decency to lend me weapons in this cruel world.

Against my wishes, however, he gives me a sword and a dagger, and on my insistence he allows me to use his bow and arrow. The grip of the handles on each weapon are comforting and I swear I felt the grooves mold perfectly my fingers when I first held it. My intuition tells me it must have something to do with the rumors of magicians and witches from his kingdom. I didn't voice these concerns out loud.

The stag moves again, its ears perking as it stands up rigid as stone. Its eyes land somewhere to its left, off to the distance.

I hold my breath and my tread is light as I remain careful of nature's blanket and avoid anything that can make a sound; that can alert the chestnut beauty in front of me. I take an arrow from the quiver on my shoulders, pulling the drawstring as far back as I am able.

But before I let the arrow follow the path I forged for it, a lioness, agile and swift, pounces for the stag, claiming its prize with its claws and teeth sinking into flesh.

As I stare at the crimson staining the cushioned floor, the scent of iron filling the forest's breath, my own breath stills in my chest, and my hands shiver in terror.

Because I recall what I read of lions in the palace archives. I recall that lions, despite being predatory felines, are pack animals. So if one is here, so are others.

And the fact they haven't revealed themselves to enjoy the spoils from the stag only allows me to presume they are still out here.

They are still hunting.