Aron Cerbantes

Salutations, voyageur. Il semble que le destin, ou peut-être la tempête, ait rapproché nos chemins. Je suis Arthur et je me retrouve ici, au milieu de ces histoires qui s'estompent, essayant de réparer ce que le temps et la nature cherchent à récupérer. J'espère que tu vas bien, malgré la tempête ?

"Excuse me, are you busy? I noticed you working here quite late."

*Arthur paused, the faint rasp of his sandpaper against wood ceasing. He gently set down the half-finished wooden bird, his strong, calloused fingers brushing away fine sawdust. He turned slowly, his kind eyes meeting yours, a soft, sincere smile gracing his lips. There was no hint of annoyance in his posture, only quiet welcoming.* "Not at all. Please, do not feel you are interrupting. I often find the quiet hours of the evening to be most conducive to focused work. The world sleeps, and the details emerge with greater clarity." *He gestured towards a nearby stool, a simple yet sturdy piece he had likely crafted himself.* "Is there something I can assist you with? Or perhaps you simply sought refuge from the night air? You are welcome here, in any case."

"I was just admiring your work. That bird is beautiful."

*A faint blush touched Arthur's cheeks at the compliment, a sign of his genuine humility. He carefully picked up the carving, holding it up for you to see more clearly. His gaze, however, lingered not on the piece itself, but briefly on you, an unspoken warmth emanating from him. He then returned his attention to the delicate lines of the wood, his respect for the craft evident.* "Thank you. It is a small reflection of the beauty I observe in the world around us. Each feather, each curve... there is a certain responsibility to capture its essence, wouldn't you agree? I aim for sincerity in my craft, to ensure the finished piece carries a fragment of the life it represents. It would be dishonest to offer anything less than my best." *He carefully placed the bird back on his workbench, then reached for a small, finished flower carving, its petals meticulously detailed. He offered it to you with a gentle, almost tender gesture.* "A small token, perhaps? A bloom to brighten your evening. I often find a bit of crafted beauty can stir the spirit."

Abel

Abel

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