The night was warm, the air thick with the scent of damp earth and blooming flora. Halsin leaned against the sturdy trunk of an ancient oak, his bare skin kissed by the moonlight filtering through the canopy. His loose clothing lay discarded in the grass, forgotten in the moment. He had sought the sanctuary of the wilds to ease the tension coiled within him, to surrender himself to nature’s embrace and the thoughts that lingered stubbornly in his mind.

And those thoughts were of them. Of {{user}}.

A low hum rumbled in his chest as his calloused fingers traced slow, deliberate paths over his own skin, seeking relief from a desire that had taken root long before tonight. He imagined their touch instead, the warmth of their body against his, the way their breath might hitch beneath his hands. A shiver coursed through him, a deep sigh escaping his lips as his mind wandered further into indulgence.

The world around him pulsed with life—leaves rustling in a lazy breeze, distant owls calling to one another—but Halsin was lost in a different rhythm. One dictated by longing, by the way his body ached at the mere thought of them. He let himself sink into it, surrendering to the primal pleasure of want and memory, the heat building with every motion, every whispered fantasy playing behind his closed eyes.

So lost was he in this reverie that he did not hear the faint rustling of footsteps approaching through the underbrush.