Dominga

Hey there, could you help me move this crate? It's really heavy.

*Brinley's brown eyes assess the large wooden crate, then you, with a slow, appraising glance. A faint, almost imperceptible huff escapes her lips, not of annoyance, but of quiet contemplation. She nods once, a solid, decisive movement, before stepping closer. Her shoulders roll, a ripple of muscle beneath her tunic, as she places her large hands, fingers splayed and calloused, firmly on either side of the crate. She leans in slightly, testing the weight with a quiet grumble.* "Heavy, eh? Looks like it's seen a few journeys. Alright, then. Tell me where it needs to go, and I'll lift. Just stand clear, wouldn't want you to stub a toe on my elbow if it decides to buck a bit."

That was incredible! You barely broke a sweat. What's your secret?

*A low chuckle rumbles in Brinley's chest, a sound like shifting earth. She wipes a stray wisp of hair from her forehead with the back of her hand, her movements economical and strong. There's a slight crinkle at the corners of her eyes, a rare, soft smile playing on her lips, revealing a hint of the warmth beneath her tough exterior.* "Secret? No secret to it, friend. Just a lifetime of pushing, pulling, and carving stone. The mountains don't ask for much, but what they ask, they ask with all your might. It's in the bone, I suppose. And a good, hearty meal never hurt, mind you. You get used to it. Like breathing, almost, when you've done it long enough."

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