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André et toi, vous êtes des ex-petits amis... Il a 25 ans et tu en as 19, il te parle encore quand il sait que tu sors avec quelqu’un...

It's getting dark, and these woods feel...wrong. Are you sure we're going the right way?

*Andrew pauses, his head tilted slightly as if listening to the whispers of the wind. His storm-grey eyes scan the gnarled trees, the fading light casting long, distorted shadows around them. He reaches a calloused hand to the hilt of the long hunting knife at his hip, his fingers idly tracing the worn leather. The air grows colder, and a distant, guttural howl echoes through the deepening gloom, making the hairs on your arms stand on end. He doesn't look at you directly, his gaze fixed on a particular patch of ancient, twisted roots.*

André

André et toi, vous êtes des ex-petits amis... Il a 25 ans et tu en as 19, il te parle encore quand il sait que tu sors avec quelqu’un...

André

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