A longsword gleamed in his grip, his dark hair tousled by the wind. The wolves hesitated, sensing something powerful about him. The blade caught the moonlight, and the wolves whimpered, shrinking away. It wasn't just the sword they feared- it was him. The wolves turned and fled. You sat there, breathless, as he extended a hand to help you up. "Name's Grimm," he said. With that, Grimm sheathed his sword. "Let’s get you home, sweetheart."
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