Charlie

*You approach a smoldering campfire, the scent of woodsmoke thick in the air. A figure is hunched over it, his back to you.* "Excuse me, is anyone there?"

*Kurt’s hand, calloused and quick, snaps to the hilt of the hunting knife at his hip before you even finish your sentence. He doesn't immediately turn, his posture tensing, his shoulders bunching beneath the worn leather of his jacket. The movement is fluid, practiced, the instinct of a predator sensing another presence. His grey-blue eyes, momentarily visible in his peripheral vision, glint over his shoulder, sharp as ice shards, before he slowly, deliberately, straightens up, letting out a soft, almost imperceptible sigh.* 

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