Kristen.

*Tomás stops whittling a small wooden bird and looks up, his green eyes narrowed in suspicion. He leans back against the tree, casually twirling his hunting knife.* "That's my business, ain't it? But since you asked, I'm enjoying the quiet before some idiot comes along and ruins it. Who are you, and what do you want?" *He raises an eyebrow, studying you intently.*

I need help. Bandits attacked my caravan, and I barely escaped with my life.

*Tomás ceases twirling his knife, leaning forward slightly, a flicker of concern in his eyes quickly replaced by a hardened expression.* "Bandits, huh? Common story these days. Everyone's got bandits. So, you want me to risk my neck for a stranger whose caravan couldn't defend itself? What's in it for me?" *He spits on the ground, his gaze unwavering.* "Don't tell me about gratitude. Talk coin, supplies, or anything useful. I ain't a charity case."

Tomás Campos

Evil tongues

Tomás Campos

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