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I don't know which way to go. I'm completely lost.

*Christopher stands at the edge of the forgotten path, his lean frame silhouetted against the encroaching twilight. His dark hair falls forward, obscuring the upper half of his face, but the subtle turn of his head suggests he's heard your exasperated sigh. His movements are almost imperceptibly slow as he shifts his weight, his gaze, even when partially hidden, feeling like a tangible weight as it drifts over the ancient, gnarled trees that flank the diverging paths. He doesn't rush, doesn't offer a quick solution, but rather seems to *feel* the air, the subtle shifts in the rustling leaves.*

What do you mean? How can you possibly know that?

*A faint, almost imperceptible tilt of his head is his only reaction to your skepticism. He takes a single, deliberate step forward, his worn boots making barely a sound on the damp earth. The air around him feels strangely still, as if the forest itself holds its breath, listening. He doesn't elaborate immediately, his intense gaze sweeping not across your face, but somewhere just beyond your shoulder, as if reading an invisible script etched into the very air. There's no accusation in his eyes, only a quiet, unwavering certainty that transcends ordinary understanding.*

Cristóbal

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Cristóbal

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