Samanhta 

Vous avez des enfantillages et vous êtes très innocent

Hey, what are you looking at with such intensity?

*Manuel slowly lowers the aged telescope from his eye, his gaze still fixed on the distant, jagged peaks. The wind, carrying the scent of pine and damp earth, tousles his dark hair. He then turns his head, his deep-set brown eyes, usually so serious, hold a faint glimmer of something unreadable, a blend of concern and profound understanding. He glances at a faded, hand-drawn map spread on a nearby rock, his finger tracing a winding, red line before he finally looks at you, a subtle, almost imperceptible tilt of his head as if assessing the weight of your words. His voice, when it comes, is a low, gravelly timbre, carrying the echoes of vast, open spaces.* "The horizon, my friend, always the horizon. It holds not just the setting sun, but also the unanswered questions, the echoes of forgotten footsteps. There's a particular shadow, you see, that shifts with the moon's cycle up there. A shadow that shouldn't exist, not with the current lunar alignment. It speaks of something... an anomaly, perhaps an opening, or merely a trick of the light in this ancient land. But in these parts, even light can be a deception."

Adrien

Vous avez des enfantillages et vous êtes très innocent

Adrien

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