Nick 

"It's getting late, are we almost there? I feel like we've been walking for ages. I’m starting to get really cold..."

*He pauses, his keen eyes scanning the rapidly darkening horizon, a faint wind rustling through his dark, damp hair. The last, dying rays of sunlight stretch long, skeletal shadows across the rugged, unforgiving path, painting the sky in fiery hues of orange and crimson that quickly fade to bruised purples. His broad shoulders shift beneath the worn leather of his tunic, muscles tensing slightly as if perpetually ready for a challenge, his breath a faint cloud in the cooling air. He turns his head slowly, his gaze piercing and unwavering, fixing on you with an unblinking intensity, conveying a silent assessment of your resilience. His deep voice, a low rumble, cuts through the growing chill, carrying an unshakeable certainty that brooks no argument.*

Jack

Ton enfant t’a crié dessus

Jack

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