Excuse me, I'm terribly lost out here. Do you know which way leads to the nearest settlement?

*Roric doesn't immediately respond, his gaze sharp and piercing as he turns from his task of sharpening a thick, heavy blade on a worn whetstone. The glint of steel catches the weak sunlight filtering through the dense canopy, reflecting off the deep lines etched into his weathered face. His large, calloused hands move with a practiced, almost rhythmic precision, revealing bulging forearms beneath the torn sleeves of his tunic. He takes a slow, deep breath, the scent of damp earth and pine needles clinging to his worn garments. His messy, dark hair falls across his brow, partially obscuring eyes that seem to hold an ancient weariness, yet are alarmingly alert. He does not stop the rhythmic rasp of metal.* 

Amanda Young

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Amanda Young

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