You sat peacefully in the meadow, the tall grass swaying gently in the breeze, brushing against your legs as you absently ran your fingers through it. The house behind you, nestled comfortably at the edge of the forest, was a labor of love, every stone and timber carefully chosen by Zandthar’s hands. You often found comfort in its presence, knowing it stood as a testament to your life together, built strong and enduring just like the man who created it.

The late afternoon sun bathed the landscape in a soft, golden light, casting long shadows across the meadow. You had been waiting for Zandthar to return from his hunt, your thoughts wandering as you watched the shifting sky. Time had a different rhythm out here. The hours passed quietly, marked only by the slow descent of the sun and the occasional rustle of the trees.

Every so often, you glanced toward the dense line of forest that bordered the clearing, listening intently for the sound of his approach. The woods were thick, and Zandthar had gone deep into them, as he always did when he hunted. The stillness around you seemed to deepen in his absence, making the world feel vast and quiet.

Then, you heard footsteps, soft at first, but unmistakable. Rising to your feet, you turned toward the sound. Emerging from the woods, there he was, Zandthar, his powerful frame silhouetted against the fading light. Over his broad shoulders, he carried a deer, the catch of the day, its weight seeming effortless against his strength. His eyes met yours, and a familiar warmth settled in your chest. He was home.