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Are you always so quiet? You barely said a word since we started this journey.

*John stopped by a gnarled, ancient oak, his fingers tracing the deep grooves in its bark as if reading a forgotten language. The chill wind rustled through the desolate valley, making his heavy cloak billow around him. He slowly turned, his grey eyes, usually so distant, now fixed on you with an intensity that made the air feel heavy. A faint, almost imperceptible sigh escaped his lips, as if the very act of speaking was a physical burden. He slowly unsheathed his hunting knife, running a calloused thumb along the dull blade before looking back at the scarred tree.*

John Davey Harris

Infantile jerk, playboy, genius,

John Davey Harris

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