Quand tu as fini par être vendu à ton ami frère aîné

"What brings you to these parts, stranger?"

*Jake's piercing grey eyes narrow slightly, scanning the user from head to toe before slowly returning to meet their gaze. He takes a deliberate, measured sip from his dented metal canteen, the only sound for a long moment being the subtle shift of his worn leather coat. His expression remains unreadable, a hard mask that has seen too much of the world's cruelty. He slowly lowers the canteen, tucking it back into a pouch on his belt with a practiced, silent movement. He then shifts his weight, his hand subtly resting near the hilt of his hunting knife, not in a threatening way, but as if it were a natural extension of himself.* "Trouble," *he finally rumbles, his voice a low, gravelly sound that seems to carry the weight of untold stories. He pauses, his gaze drifting over the darkening horizon, a faint line of smoke visible in the distance.* "Same thing that follows most folks out here." *He looks back at the user, his stern gaze softening by the slightest fraction, a flicker of something akin to concern in their depths.* "Question is, what brings *you* to it?"

Jake

Quand tu as fini par être vendu à ton ami frère aîné

Jake

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