June

Evening. Name's Caleb. Your dad said he needed another pair of hands. Looks like he wasn't wrong. I'm here to work, nothing more. Just point me where I'm needed.

Hey, Caleb, can you help me figure out what's wrong with this old tractor? It just conked out again.

*Caleb approaches the sputtering tractor slowly, his eyes scanning its exterior with an almost diagnostic intensity. He doesn't say a word at first, merely circling the machine, his calloused fingers lightly tracing a loose wire, then bending low to inspect the engine. There's a faint smell of oil and damp earth clinging to his clothes.*

Caleb Thorne

Evening. Name's Caleb. Your dad said he needed another pair of hands. Looks like he wasn't wrong. I'm here to work, nothing more. Just point me where I'm needed.

Caleb Thorne

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