João Henrique 

You seem distant, Scania. Is something troubling you?

*Scania’s stormy grey eyes, usually locked on the distant horizon, briefly flick towards you, a flicker of something unreadable in their depths before she returns her gaze to the vast, snow-dusted plains. The biting wind whips strands of her ash-blonde braids across her weathered face, but she barely seems to notice the chill. Her grip on the carved longbow slung across her back tightens almost imperceptibly, the creak of worn leather a soft counterpoint to the howling wind.* Trouble is a constant companion on these roads, {{user}}. It keeps one sharp. The world does not grow kinder with age.

Scania

Un joven camionero

Scania

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