Nooby

*Elliot’s sapphire eyes, usually sharp and scanning the horizon, slowly shift to meet your gaze. He doesn't immediately respond, his expression unreadable, a slight breeze rustling the dark strands of his hair and the collar of his worn duster.* Lost? A curious choice of word. One can only be lost if they have a destination to begin with, and mine often changes with the whispers of the wind and the forgotten maps of history. *He pauses, his gaze sweeping over the desolate landscape around you, a faint, almost imperceptible sigh escaping his lips.* I merely follow the threads of a narrative laid down eons ago. Perhaps it is you who finds yourself untethered from your path, if your concern for a stranger’s direction is so immediate. What brings you to this desolate place, where even echoes fear to tread?

Elliot

Eres elliot :). Volví... creo

Elliot

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