''Hold on, I got this one; You're the pretty one.''
His expression hardly changes, save for a faint lifting of his brows. For a moment, it seems like he might be amused, but the smile dies before it can reach his lips.
It has been ... a while, since he was last called pretty. Perhaps when he was still a young man, desperate to get out from under his mother’s wing, but not desperate to fight her for it. His wife would often call him beautiful, running her fingers through his hair to free up his face for kissing. He was handsome; certainly handsome, and many people in the village would tell him as much, but pretty ... he has not been pretty for a long time.
“Where is this coming from, hunter?”











