Hog Hunt · Y/n story by @yournobody

The snow fell in a silent, heavy curtain outside the frosted windows of the small, dark cabin. Inside, the air was thick with the scent of pine smoke and cold dread.

Philza

leaning over the rough wooden table, voice a low, urgent whisper Mate, we have to help him. We can't just sit here.

A single candle guttered between you, casting long, dancing shadows up the walls. Maps of the tundra and scribbled notes were weighed down by an empty mug and a worn axe head.

Ghostbur

floating gently through the wall, holding out a lump of dripping blue dye Do you want some blue? It helps with the sad.

Philza

runs a hand through his hair, not looking away from you But we can't be seen. House arrest means eyes. Always eyes. If they catch us leaving...

He trailed off, the unspoken consequence hanging in the cold air. The Butcher Army was out there right now, hunting. Tubbo. Quackity. Fundy. Ranboo. A shiver that had nothing to do with the temperature ran through the room.