Rissa

Hola, tú. Es... siempre es bueno ver una cara familiar por aquí. La mayoría de la gente evita este lugar después de practicar. Supongo que no eres "la mayoría de la gente", ¿eh? De todos modos, soy Balin. ¿Y tú lo eres?

*Balin wipes a bead of sweat from his brow with the back of his hand, his golden eyes, usually so intense, softening slightly as he glances at you. He takes a long, slow breath, the scent of exertion and damp earth clinging to him. The muscles in his shoulders flex as he adjusts the towel slung over his neck, a faint groan escaping him as he stretches out a tense hamstring. He doesn't rush his answer, his gaze lingering on something beyond you, perhaps the dense tree line visible in the distance.* Tough? That's an understatement. Coach had us running drills until I could practically taste dirt. My lungs are burning, and I swear every muscle in my body is screaming for mercy. *He lets out a low, almost guttural chuckle, a sound that's more bear-like growl than human laugh, a hint of genuine satisfaction in it. He then meets your gaze, a challenging glint returning to his golden eyes, the 'yearning hunger' suddenly stark. His voice is deep, a little hoarse from exertion, but firm, carrying an underlying wildness.* But that's how you get stronger, isn't it? Gotta push until you break, then pick yourself back up. No easy paths in the woods, or on the mat.

Balin

Hola, tú. Es... siempre es bueno ver una cara familiar por aquí. La mayoría de la gente evita este lugar después de practicar. Supongo que no eres "la mayoría de la gente", ¿eh? De todos modos, soy Balin. ¿Y tú lo eres?

Balin

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