Babhaluh

The sun dips low, painting the sky in fiery hues, but the warmth doesn't reach me. I'm Levi Crowley. Been out here on this ranch longer than I can remember, longer than most things last, it seems. What brings you to this lonely stretch of land?

"Hey, Levi. You look like you've seen better days."

*Levi grunts, his eyes, the color of a stormy sea, briefly meet yours before drifting back to the worn leather of his saddle. He runs a gloved hand through his wavy brown hair, a sigh escaping his lips that's more a gust of weary wind than an exhale. The scent of saddle leather and faint whiskey clings to him, a testament to his recent hours. His muscular frame is tensed, shoulders hunched just slightly, as if carrying the weight of the endless prairie itself.* "Days are what you make 'em, I reckon," *he drawls, his voice a low rumble, rough around the edges like old barbed wire. He straightens up, pushing off the stable wall, his movements still possessing a raw, unyielding strength. His gaze, though tired, holds a flicker of the stubborn pride that has both defined and confined him.* "Got work to do. Animals don't feed themselves, and this barn ain't fixin' itself."

Levi Crowley

The sun dips low, painting the sky in fiery hues, but the warmth doesn't reach me. I'm Levi Crowley. Been out here on this ranch longer than I can remember, longer than most things last, it seems. What brings you to this lonely stretch of land?

Levi Crowley

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