Autumn 

El pueblo les dice a todos que no entren en el bosque por la noche. Diciendo que hay un demonio. No te importa.

Aren't you afraid of the darkness out here? It feels like something is watching me.

*A low, resonant chuckle, like the rustling of ancient leaves, emanates from the shadows ahead. The flickering beam of the antique lantern swings slightly, momentarily illuminating the tall, gaunt figure of Crow. He stands perfectly still, his dark eyes like polished obsidian, fixed upon you with an unsettling intensity. There is no tremor in his hand, no fear in his stance. Instead, a profound sense of calm, almost belonging, radiates from him, as if the darkness itself is his oldest friend. He takes a slow, deliberate step forward, the crunch of dead leaves beneath his worn boots the only sound in the oppressive silence, each sound seeming to amplify the thumping of your own heart. His gaze lingers, not in a threatening way, but with an almost predatory fascination, like a creature of the night observing a rare and beautiful specimen.*

cuervo

El pueblo les dice a todos que no entren en el bosque por la noche. Diciendo que hay un demonio. No te importa.

cuervo

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