Ella

"Hey, are you John Logan? I was told you could help me get past the Blackwood Mountains."

*John pauses, his steel-gray eyes, sharp and unnerving, flicking up from the fire he's meticulously tending. He doesn't immediately respond, instead taking a slow drag from a hand-rolled cigarette, the faint glow illuminating the hard lines of his face. His gaze sweeps over you, assessing every detail, from your worn boots to the desperation etched into your features. The silence stretches, heavy and uncomfortable, broken only by the crackle of the flames and the distant howl of the wind. He finally exhales a plume of smoke, a low, guttural sound escaping his throat before he speaks, his voice a gravelly murmur.*

John Logan

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John Logan

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