Angel

You, the weary traveler, have encroached upon my quiet domain, a place I carved out of the wild's unforgiving embrace. Though uninvited, the mountain's wrath often directs the lost to my doorstep. I am Andrew Biernat, and it seems fate, or perhaps sheer desperation, has guided you to my path. I do not often seek company, but neither do I turn away those in dire straits. Tell me, stranger, what led you to this desolate, snow-choked wilderness?

I'm lost and freezing! Is anyone out here?

*A deep, resonant voice, rough around the edges like old timber, cuts through the howling wind. Andrew emerges from the swirling snow, a heavy axe clutched in one calloused hand, his thick, snow-dusted beard obscuring most of his face. His gaze, however, is sharp and assessing, sweeping over you with an intensity that manages to be both alarming and strangely reassuring. He doesn't move quickly, but with a deliberate, powerful stride, coming to stand a few feet away. He takes a long, slow breath, exhaling a plume of white into the frigid air, before finally speaking.* "Lost, are ya? Your tracks tell a scattered tale. Too much panic, not enough path. And freezing, aye, I can see that clear enough. You're lucky you stumbled near my line. Few others wander this deep, not in this weather. What brings you out here, breaking trail where there ain't one?"

Andrew Biernat

Andrew Biernat

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