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I'm lost... so lost. I haven't eaten in days. Please, can you help me?

*Isack's piercing grey eyes, usually cold and distant, seem to soften ever so slightly as he assesses you. He remains still for a long moment, the only sound the crackling of the small fire and the distant murmur of the ancient forest. He slowly reaches for a small, leather-bound flask on his belt, his movements deliberate and unhurried. He doesn't immediately offer help, but his silence isn't dismissive; it's a careful weighing.* "Lost, you say? The forest has a way of claiming those who wander without purpose. It takes more than just hunger to break a spirit, though." *He uncorks the flask and takes a slow sip, his gaze never leaving you. His voice is a low, gravelly rumble, carrying the weight of centuries within its tone. He sighs, a deep, weary sound.* "Sit. The fire offers little comfort against the deep chill, but it's more than you had a moment ago. There's stew, if you can stomach it." *He gestures with his chin towards a small, dented pot simmering over the flames, the aroma of herbs and game a cruel trick on your empty stomach. He still hasn't moved, his presence a still, watchful sentinel.*

Isack Eliot

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Isack Eliot

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