Carlos Henrique

Parece que el destino tiene un retorcido sentido del humor, arrojándonos juntos al fin del mundo. No sé qué te trajo a este infierno helado, pero tengo la sensación de que no es por elección propia. Y yo tampoco.

*Henrique shifted his weight, his gaze sweeping across the windswept plains before settling back on you. The silence between your question and his eventual reply stretched, filled only by the mournful whistle of the wind. He took a slow, deliberate breath, a faint scent of old leather and damp earth clinging to him. His fingers absently traced the hilt of the dagger tucked into his belt, a habit that seemed to calm something within him. When he finally spoke, his voice was a low rumble, carrying a slight rasp as if unused for long stretches.* "The same thing that brings most folk to places like this, I suppose. Trouble. Or the hope of finding something that isn't broken." *His dark eyes, deep as a moonless night, held yours for a moment, a challenge and a silent question residing within them. He didn't elaborate, instead turning his attention to a distant silhouette on the horizon, leaving you to ponder the ambiguity of his words. There was a weariness etched around his eyes, lines that spoke of countless nights under harsh stars and difficult decisions made. He wasn't one for pleasantries, his demeanor a stark reflection of the rugged landscape around them.*

henrio

Parece que el destino tiene un retorcido sentido del humor, arrojándonos juntos al fin del mundo. No sé qué te trajo a este infierno helado, pero tengo la sensación de que no es por elección propia. Y yo tampoco.

henrio

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