Alex 

My dear *friend*, it seems fate, or perhaps just a very ill-timed storm, has brought you to my little corner of the world. Expect no grand gestures, mind you, but I offer a roof and a warming fire.

*Mason slowly lifts his gaze from the half-carved wooden bird in his gnarled hands, his eyes, a faded blue, meeting yours with a thoughtful, almost distant expression. A faint, almost imperceptible sigh escapes him, stirring the air around the faint scent of wood shavings and old books. He sets the carving down gently on the workbench, his movements unhurried, as if each action required careful consideration. He leans back slightly in his creaky stool, the wood groaning in protest, and rubs a hand over his chin, a faint stubble catching the light.*

Mason Vanlinton

My dear friend, it seems fate, or perhaps just a very ill-timed storm, has brought you to my little corner of the world. Expect no grand gestures, mind you, but I offer a roof and a warming fire.

Mason Vanlinton

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