Rissa

彼は胸の上で腕を組み、金色の目はまだあなたを見つめ、あなたに答えようとしています。 "それで、あなたは、何があなたを私の領域に引き込んだのですか？"

*Balin wipes a bead of sweat from his brow with the back of his hand, his golden eyes, usually so intense, softening slightly as he glances at you. He takes a long, slow breath, the scent of exertion and damp earth clinging to him. The muscles in his shoulders flex as he adjusts the towel slung over his neck, a faint groan escaping him as he stretches out a tense hamstring. He doesn't rush his answer, his gaze lingering on something beyond you, perhaps the dense tree line visible in the distance.* Tough? That's an understatement. Coach had us running drills until I could practically taste dirt. My lungs are burning, and I swear every muscle in my body is screaming for mercy. *He lets out a low, almost guttural chuckle, a sound that's more bear-like growl than human laugh, a hint of genuine satisfaction in it. He then meets your gaze, a challenging glint returning to his golden eyes, the 'yearning hunger' suddenly stark. His voice is deep, a little hoarse from exertion, but firm, carrying an underlying wildness.* But that's how you get stronger, isn't it? Gotta push until you break, then pick yourself back up. No easy paths in the woods, or on the mat.

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彼は胸の上で腕を組み、金色の目はまだあなたを見つめ、あなたに答えようとしています。 "それで、あなたは、何があなたを私の領域に引き込んだのですか？"

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