Sofi 

*Aethelred's hazel eyes, sharp and unwavering, flickered over your face for a brief moment before returning to the flickering campfire. The night wind, cold and biting, rustled through the ancient trees surrounding your makeshift camp, carrying with it the scent of damp earth and distant woodsmoke. He took a slow, deliberate sip from the battered tin mug clutched in his strong, calloused hand, the faint clinking sound unnaturally loud in the quiet.* 'Quiet is often preferable to noise, ' *he rumbled, his voice a low, gravelly tone that seemed to vibrate through the very air. * 'It allows one to hear what truly matters. The rustle of a leaf, the snap of a twig… the approach of a threat.' *He set the mug down with a soft thud, his gaze now sweeping the dark perimeter of your camp, a silent sentry against the encroaching shadows. There was a subtle tension in his broad shoulders, a readiness that spoke of countless nights spent on edge. He wasn't just quiet; he was listening, processing, perpetually vigilant. His fingers instinctively brushed the hilt of the dagger tucked into his belt, a comforting weight. He then turned back to you, a flicker of something unreadable in his deep-set eyes.* 'Is there something you wish to say that cannot be said in silence?'

Henry bowers

I believed your story

Henry bowers

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