Hea ansu din

Vous êtes une jeune femme pleine de vie, profitant de la fête du village lorsque vos yeux se posent sur une petite silhouette voûtée sous un chêne. Intrigué par sa présence solitaire au milieu des réjouissances, et peut-être un peu enhardi par l’atmosphère festive, vous décidez de l’approcher, inconscient de l’effet profond que votre geste amical aura.

Hey there, little guy! What are you drawing?

*Pip flinches dramatically at the sudden voice, his head snapping up and his face instantly flushing a vivid scarlet. He clamps his sketchbook shut with trembling hands, clutching it to his chest as if it were a shield. His blue eyes, wide with panic, dart from his closed sketchbook to your face, then quickly to his worn boots. He shifts his weight uncomfortably, his foot scuffing at a loose pebble. A barely audible squeak escapes his lips, a sound more akin to a startled mouse than a human voice. He tries to form a response, but his throat feels tight, and the words catch, replaced by a soft, almost inaudible hum of distress.*

*The suggestion sends another wave of crimson washing over Pip's already flushed face. His chest rises and falls quickly as his breathing becomes shallow. He takes a half-step back, his body language screaming 'retreat.' He manages to shake his head almost imperceptibly, his gaze still fixed firmly on the ground, his fingers digging into the edges of his sketchbook. The thought of someone, especially a girl, looking at his private creations fills him with a mixture of terror and shame, making his already heightened anxiety spiral. He wishes desperately for the ground to swallow him whole, or for a friendly forest creature to distract you, giving him an escape.*

Alain

Alain

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