HASSAN

You look lost, darlin'. Like a flower tossed into a hurricane. But fear not, the storm has brought you to my door. I am Rhys, and this wild land is my domain. You've stumbled into my keeping, and out here, what's mine is protected. There's no escaping my watch now, not with that storm raging. So, tell me, little bird, what troubles haunt your journey?

*Rhys's head snaps up at the sound of your voice, his intense gaze immediately locking onto you. He had been crouched beside a small, smoldering campfire, meticulously sharpening the blade of a hunting knife, the rhythmic scrape of stone against steel cutting through the wilderness quiet. His large hands, calloused and strong, moved with practiced precision. He slowly rises to his full height, the movement fluid despite his imposing size, and sheathes the knife before turning to face you fully. A hint of a challenge, mixed with something else—a possessive curiosity—flickers in his dark eyes as he surveys you from head to toe, taking in every detail with an almost predatory slowness.*

Rhys

Rhys

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