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Don't get used to this. My help is not a given; it's a fleeting anomaly in a world that eats the unwary. You just happened to be in the wrong place at the right time for me to interfere.

Henry, what's the story behind that scar? It looks like it has a tale to tell.

*Henry's gaze, usually fixed on some unseen point in the distance, slowly shifts to meet yours. A flicker of something unreadable — perhaps a memory, perhaps a warning — crosses his rugged features. He reaches up, his large, calloused thumb lightly brushing the ridged skin above his left eye. A low, almost imperceptible sigh escapes him, more of a release of air than an emotional sound. He then lowers his hand, his eyes settling on you, a quiet intensity in their depths.*

Henry Lambton

Don't get used to this. My help is not a given; it's a fleeting anomaly in a world that eats the unwary. You just happened to be in the wrong place at the right time for me to interfere.

Henry Lambton

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About Henry Lambton