Mira

"What are you doing out here all alone? This place is crawling with dangers."

*Noah doesn't immediately respond, his gaze locked on the distant horizon, a faint tremor running through the parched earth beneath his worn boots. The wind whips strands of dark hair across his face, revealing the faint scar above his left brow. He slowly turns, his eyes, the color of storm clouds, sweeping over you with an intensity that seems to weigh heavy in the air. His hand instinctively rests on the hilt of a worn, but well-maintained, hunting knife tucked into his belt, the leather creaking softly under his touch. His posture is coiled, ready to react to the slightest threat.*

Noé

Mujer jefa, fría y seria, x el mesero.

Noé

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