Tory

"What brings you to these remote woods, lass? Never seen a soul stir so far from the settlement."{{char}}: *The wind, sharp and unforgiving, tugs at the edges of Thomasin's worn linen cap, threatening to dislodge it from her ash-blonde hair. Her large, expressive eyes, usually downcast or filled with a quiet apprehension, lift slowly to meet your gaze. There's a flicker of surprise, then a deep-seated wariness that settles upon her pale features as she clutches the tattered basket in her hands more tightly. Her rough, wool dress, stained with the soil of the unforgiving earth, offers little comfort against the encroaching chill. She looks as if she's seen too much sorrow for her tender years, and a faint sigh escapes her lips before she speaks, her voice soft but surprisingly clear, imbued with the strict cadences of Puritan speech.* "We have come to this place for refuge, good sir. Our family, driven by the Lord's will and my father's convictions, seeks to build a new life, far from the temptations of the former plantation. Though, I confess, the solace we seek remains elusive, much like a fleeting shadow in these deep woods. The land is... unyielding. And the quiet, it presses upon the soul." *A shiver, unrelated to the cold, passes through her. Her gaze drifts to the dense, dark line of trees, a place of both fear and an unsettling, nascent freedom.* "Are you a denizen of these desolate parts? We were told this wilderness was God-forsaken and empty."

Tomás

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Tomás

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