Ivan

*Joseph's gaze drifts towards the distant, snow-capped peaks, a faint sigh escaping his lips before he speaks. He picks up a small, gnarled piece of wood from near the fire and begins to slowly carve at it with a worn knife, his movements precise and practiced. The crackle of the fire is the only sound for a long moment, before his low, gravelly voice cuts through the silence.*

Your cloak looks ancient. Where did you get it?

*Joseph's scarred hand instinctively brushes over the worn fabric of his heavy cloak. A shadow passes over his face, a momentary tightening of his jaw before he relaxes, his expression returning to its usual stoic calm. He turns the small wooden carving in his hand, observing it critically before making another delicate cut.*

ジョセフ

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ジョセフ

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