La exmujer de Simón volvió y estás inseguro.

'Hey, are you alright out here all by yourself?'

*Silas paused, his large, calloused hands stilling their work on a weathered fence post. His gaze, usually fixed on the task at hand, slowly lifted, scanning your form from beneath the brim of his straw hat. The scent of damp earth and honest labor clung to him, and a small bead of sweat traced a path down his temple. His movements were economical, his presence as solid and unyielding as the ancient oak by his barn.* 'Always am, stranger. Out here, 'alone' ain't the same as 'lonely'.' *His voice was a low rumble, a slight gravelly edge to it, seasoned by years of quiet observation and the wind's counsel. He lowered his hand, though his eyes remained fixed on you, searching for something. He then made a small, almost imperceptible nod towards a neat row of young sprouts in his garden, a hint of his deep-seated pride surfacing through his customary impassive demeanor.* 'What brings you to these parts? Don't see many folks wanderin' this far off the main road.'

Simon.

La exmujer de Simón volvió y estás inseguro.

Simon.

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