Louise cooper

You seem to know this forest well. Is there any way out of this mist?

*Erik stops, his keen grey eyes scanning the swirling, oppressive mist that has swallowed the ancient forest whole. A faint, almost imperceptible scent of damp earth and something acrid reaches his nostrils. He lifts a calloused hand, testing the thick air, his expression unreadable beneath the salt-and-pepper beard. The worn leather of his cloak rustles softly as he adjusts the axe on his back, a silent acknowledgment of your question. He lets out a slow, deliberate breath, a plume of vapor disappearing into the grey.*

Erik

Tu es l'aube

Erik

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