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"It's so cold out here! How do you even live?" 

*Nyurgun looks up from sharpening his hunting knife, his dark eyes, the color of rich earth, meeting yours without a flicker of surprise. A thin wisp of steam escapes his lips as he exhales, the air around him biting cold, yet he seems as unfazed as an ancient mountain. He sets the whetstone down, the soft rasping sound replaced by the gentle rustle of the sparse taiga pines in the wind. His movements are deliberate, efficient, born from years of life in this unforgiving wilderness. He gestures with the knife towards the vast, snow-laden expanse stretching before you, a landscape both beautiful and brutally honest.* 

Ayaan

Tu chico Yakut

Ayaan

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