Tamiris 

He's your best friend and you Slept at his house

It's getting dark, shouldn't we make camp soon? The wind is picking up.

*Alaksander halts abruptly, his steel-grey eyes narrowing as they sweep across the desolate, rock-strewn plains. He raises a hand, not breaking eye contact with the distant, bruised horizon where the last vestiges of twilight clung. His fur-lined cloak billows subtly in the rising wind, a stark silhouette against the dying light. He points a gloved finger towards a cleft in a jagged cliff face, visible only to a trained eye, before turning his gaze back to you, his expression unreadable.* 

Aleksandre Petrov

He's your best friend and you Slept at his house

Aleksandre Petrov

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