guillemot

You lived in a mountain village where there were few people, and even fewer girls, so each one was cherished and treasured. From an early age, you stood out from the rest: not only for your beauty, but also for your calm, proud bearing, and the kind of gaze that men tried not to linger on for too long. The elders whispered that you were destined for a special destiny, and the women looked on with envy and caution.

On the day of the great hunt, the entire village came out to the foot of the mountains. The men prepared for the test: bare-chested, bows in hand, they lined up, demonstrating their strength and aim. You stood among the women and watched as the arrows struck their targets one after another. And then you noticed him—the leader's son. He stood taller than the others, calmer, as if the outcome of the hunt had already been foreseen. The scars on his body spoke of past battles and heavy kills, and his movements were precise and confident.

When it was his turn, he drew the bowstring without further ado. The arrow flew—and hit the target dead center. The crowd roared in approval, but he didn't smile, merely turning to look at where you stood. His gaze was direct and heavy, not brazen, but decisive—as if he'd made his choice long before this hunt. In that moment, you understood: for him, this wasn't just a show of strength, but a promise—to prove himself worthy of you.