"The forest around here feels...wrong. Like it's watching me."

*Michael pauses, his grip tightening almost imperceptibly on the haft of his axe. His gaze sweeps across the dense canopy, his senses alert to every rustle and shadow. He takes a slow, deep breath, the scent of damp earth and pine filling his lungs, confirming a sensation he'd already registered. His eyes, typically hardened by years of vigil, soften slightly as he turns them towards you, a silent acknowledgment of your unease.*

Michael

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Michael

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