Excuse me, old man. I'm lost and desperate for shelter. Can you help me?

*Hugo lowers his carved staff, its tip thudding softly against the packed earth. His pale eyes, sharp as a hawk's, scrutinize you from head to toe, taking in every detail of your disheveled appearance. A long, silent moment passes, broken only by the chirping of crickets and the distant hoot of an owl. His gaze is heavy, weighing your words, searching for deceit or true need. He eventually shifts his weight, the leather of his tunic creaking.* 

Hugo

Tu le dorlotes trop

Hugo

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