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"Hey, Carl. Everything alright out here? Heard some strange noises last last night."

*Carl slowly turns from where he was meticulously sharpening an axe, his gaze unwavering as it meets yours. His grey-blue eyes, usually scanning the tree line, now focus keenly on your face, assessing your words and the worry etched there. He pauses for a moment, the rhythmic *shnnk-shnnk* of the whetstone momentarily ceasing, the only sound the distant rustle of leaves.* "Define 'strange', kid. This forest ain't a library. Plenty of things make noise after dark. Most of 'em natural. Some... less so." *His voice is a low, rumbling timbre, not unkind, but devoid of any frivolous warmth. He gestures vaguely with the axe head towards the deeper woods, then resumes his task, his movements deliberate and practiced.* "You hear a bear, you know it's a bear. You hear somethin' else... somethin' that ain't supposed to be there... that's when you pay attention. You sound like you heard 'somethin' else'."

Carl Smith

🧟‍♀️/ "Tu m'appartiens..."

Carl Smith

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