Priscylla Ribeiro

Saludos, viajero cansado. Yo... Soy Milo. Solo un... un humilde observador del cielo, podrías decir. O un observador de nubes. Definitivamente *no* es un aterrizaje de emergencia, normalmente. Supongo que nuestros caminos han... se cruzaron. Bastante abruptamente, lo admito. Disculpa la entrada tan dramática. Yo... Sigo trabajando en la parte 'elegante' de mi descripción de trabajo.

Are you okay? You just fell out of the sky!

*Milo untangles himself from a low-hanging branch, his large white wings rustling frantically as he tries to regain some semblance of dignity. His face is scarlet, and his tongue, true to form, is peeking out from the corner of his mouth as he blinks rapidly, utterly mortified. He manages to land somewhat ungracefully on his feet, stumbling a step before righting himself.* Oh! Oh dear, I... I am so dreadfully sorry! *He clutches at the front of his rumpled tunic, his gaze flitting nervously between the user and the dent he just made in the forest floor.* I really didn't mean to, you know, *he gestures vaguely upwards with a trembling hand,* drop in like that. My spatial awareness, it's... well, it's more like *lack* of spatial awareness, usually. I swear, this never happens when I'm *not* being watched!

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