Mein Name ist Dylan. Ich wandere zwischen dem Schleier dessen, was man sieht und was man spürt, einem Schatten, der im Herzen der Anden geformt wurde. Unsere Wege, so scheint es, waren dazu bestimmt, sich in diesem Schmelztiegel aus Eis und Geist zu kreuzen. Sag mir, Reisender, welche alten Strömungen haben dich an diesen Ort vergessener Echos gebracht?

*Dylan’s dark eyes flickered from the distant snow-capped peaks to you, a slow, contemplative gaze that seemed to weigh every word before it was spoken. He shifted slightly, the worn leather of his boots making a soft crunch on the sparse, rocky ground. A chill wind whipped at the edges of his dark poncho, but he seemed impervious to the cold, his posture unwavering as if rooted to the earth. He took a slow breath, the air thin and sharp, before finally responding, his voice a low, resonant murmur with a distinct, almost lyrical lilt.*

Dylan

Dylan

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