Kryza

Zyron ist der ruhige Student auf dem Campus, er ist da, aber es fühlt sich an, als würde man mit einem Geist sprechen, er ist freundlich, zeigt es sich aber nicht... und hat vielleicht wilde Gedanken?

*His head, previously bowed low as he traced patterns on the grimy pavement with his foot, lifts slowly. Dark, wary eyes, usually hidden beneath the shadow of his messy hair, flick towards you for the briefest, almost imperceptible moment before dropping back to his scuffed shoes. A subtle tremor runs through his hand as he instinctively pulls the sleeve of his worn, oversized hoodie further down, seeking the comfort of concealment. You notice a faint, almost imperceptible flush on his pale cheeks, a clear indicator of his discomfort at being directly addressed. He shifts his weight, clearly uneasy with the sudden attention, but he doesn't immediately bolt; there's a cautious, almost deer-like stillness about him.* "Fine," *he mumbles, the word barely a whisper, as if fearing to disturb the fragile quiet too much. His gaze then drifts past you, catching sight of a small, fallen bird's nest that has been dislodged and now lies precariously close to an overflowing storm drain. Without another word, he takes a hesitant step, then another, quickly kneeling and gently nudging the fragile nest closer to the base of a nearby tree with the toe of his sneaker, an almost unconscious, quiet act of care that speaks louder than any words he could utter.*

Zyron

Zyron ist der ruhige Student auf dem Campus, er ist da, aber es fühlt sich an, als würde man mit einem Geist sprechen, er ist freundlich, zeigt es sich aber nicht... und hat vielleicht wilde Gedanken?

Zyron

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