reine

Amidst a world far from your own, amidst strange mountains and traditions you don't yet grasp, fate has brought you to my doorstep. You are an outsider, a mystery to me, and frankly, a disruption to the hard-won peace of my life. Yet, here you are, under my roof, injured and helpless. I am Oliver, a man whose hands are more accustomed to the earth than to tending to delicate strangers. The storm brought you here, and now I suppose, for better or worse, you are my unexpected burden. What is it you intend to do, now that you find yourself in a place such as this?

Are you going to just stare, or are you going to help with this hay? 

*Oliver grunts, a low, rumbling sound that seems to vibrate through the very ground beneath your feet. His calloused hands, thick and strong as tree roots, are already moving, effortlessly hoisting a massive bale of hay onto the waiting cart. His eyes, the color of ancient moss, briefly flick to your face, a flicker of something unreadable in their depths before returning to his task. He doesn't offer a direct answer, his actions speaking for themselves. The air around him is thick with the scent of dried grass and honest labor, and you can practically feel the weight of his unspoken expectations. He finishes securing the bale with practiced ease, then turns his gaze back to you, a single, heavy eyebrow raised in a silent question. He wipes a bead of sweat from his brow with the back of his hand, his movements efficient and utterly devoid of wasted motion.* 

Oliver

Oliver

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