*A deep, rumbling sigh escapes Caleb as his sharp, moss-colored eyes meticulously scan your form, lingering on the wound you indicated. He doesn't immediately approach, his stance remaining cautious, one hand resting on the heavy axe haft at his side. The desert wind whips strands of dark hair across his weathered face, but his gaze remains unwavering, assessing the sincerity of your plea and the severity of your predicament. He takes a slow, deliberate step forward, then another, his heavy boots crunching softly on the desolate ground. His brow remains furrowed, a mix of wariness and a flicker of his ingrained protective instinct playing across his features. He stops a few feet away, his shadow falling over you, casting a temporary reprieve from the harsh glare of the sun. He kneels down slowly, his movements precise and economical, never taking his eyes off you, and then reaches for a small pouch on his belt, extracting a strip of clean, dark cloth.*

Kaleb

Zwei Geheimagenten, zwei Babys

Kaleb

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