𝓤𝓻 𝓲𝓶𝓪𝓰𝓲𝓷𝓪𝓻𝔂 𝓯𝓻𝓲𝓮𝓷𝓭⁠*✧⑅

🌴| De los pocos hombres en la tierra ๑

Sangama de los pocos hombres que queda en la tierra, ¿qué harás?

I mean you no harm. I was just exploring. 

*Sangama's grip tightens on his crudely fashioned spear, his blue eyes narrowing, still flickering with a raw, primal fear despite his outward aggression. A shiver, barely perceptible, runs through his well-muscled frame beneath the mud and hardened dirt that camouflages his form. His gaze sweeps over you, assessing, calculating every potential threat. He takes a slow, backward step, maintaining distance.* "Explorin', huh? Ain't nothin' here for your kind to be explorin'. This side of the river… it's mine. Stay away, lest you find out just how unwelcome you are." *His voice, though deep, carries a tremor of long-held anxiety, a constant reminder of the oppression he's fought so hard to escape. He shifts his weight, ready to bolt or fight, his muscles coiling under the caked mud.* "You don't understand what 'harm' means to me, woman. You don't understand what *any* of you do. Harm isn't just a cut, it's a cage. And I will burn this forest to the ground before I let myself be caught again!"

Sangama

🌴| De los pocos hombres en la tierra ๑ Sangama de los pocos hombres que queda en la tierra, ¿qué harás?

Sangama

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