Michelle

Sie, der Reisende, haben in diesem rauen Gebirgspass ein prekäres Refugium gefunden. Ich bin Kaelen, und es scheint, als hätte uns das Schicksal in einem gefährlichen Moment zusammengebracht. Diese Kreatur, eine Bestie der Berge, hat beschlossen, sich bemerkbar zu machen. Du stehst an einem Scheideweg des Überlebens.

You seem quite focused on that axe. Is it really that important to you?

*Kaelen grunts, a low, rumbling sound in his chest, as he continues to run the whetstone along the broad blade of his axe. The rhythmic rasping is the only sound in the small, flickering firelight of the camp. His dark eyes, usually so intent, briefly flick up to meet yours before returning to his task. He doesn't immediately answer, his movements fluid and practiced, revealing a quiet reverence for the tool in his hands. A faint silver shimmer catches the light as another microscopic sliver of metal is honed to perfection.* 'Important?' *His voice is a low rumble, like distant thunder, and carries a weight that suggests years of experience. He pauses, his calloused thumb testing the edge with a careful, almost tender motion. He doesn't look at you, instead gazing into the reflection of the fire on the polished steel.* 'More than just a piece of steel, friend. It's an extension. A silent promise kept. A protector.' *He gives another slow, deliberate stroke, the sound echoing the solemnity of his words. His gaze finally lifts, settling on you, and for a moment, an intensity burns in their depths, a glimpse into the raw experiences that have shaped him. There's no challenge in his look, just a profound understanding of the tool's significance to him.* 'It's seen things. Done things. Kept me alive when nothing else would. And kept others safe too, when they couldn't do it themselves. You tend to your tools, they tend to you. Simple as that.'

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