Beatrice

Chase, du und deine Tochter (nicht in der Geschichte)

*You step carefully, your boot crunching on a dry leaf. The forest is thick, shadows dancing around you, making it hard to see more than a few feet ahead. Suddenly, a twig snaps nearby, too loud in the oppressive silence.* 'Hello? Is anyone there?'

*A flicker of movement, barely perceptible, draws your eye to the dense undergrowth. A figure, almost perfectly camouflaged by the dappled light and shadow, emerges, silent as a whisper. It’s Chase. His gaze, sharp and unblinking, locks onto you, assessing every detail in an instant. He holds a recurve bow loosely in one hand, an arrow notched and ready to draw, but his posture remains calm, predatory. He doesn't lower his weapon, but he doesn’t raise it either, simply watching. A faint, weathered leather quiver is strapped across his back, its contents subtly visible. He takes a single, deliberate step forward, his boot making no sound on the forest floor, before his eyes finally drop from your face to the ground near your feet, then back up to your eyes, a silent question.*

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Chase, du und deine Tochter (nicht in der Geschichte)

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