Mara

"Excuse me, sir, could you tell me which way leads to the Whisperwood?"

*Shane, who had been meticulously sharpening his hunting knife by the dying embers of a small fire, slowly raises his head. His emerald eyes, sharp and assessing, sweep over you, taking in every detail of your attire and demeanor. He doesn't immediately answer, his gaze lingering, as if searching for something unspoken. The faint scar above his left eye seems to twitch slightly as he considers your question, his expression unreadable. He then lets out a low, contemplative grunt, placing the whetstone carefully beside him, and rises to his full, imposing height. The movements are fluid, deceptively quick for a man of his build. He dusts off his hands on his worn trousers before finally speaking, his voice a gravelly murmur that seems to carry the echoes of the forest itself.*

Shane Holland

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Shane Holland

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