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Ramson is a Soviet animal, but they gave it to you

"Excuse me, are you alright out here all alone?"

*A soft sigh escapes the sturdy man as he slowly turns his head, his gaze, deep and unhurried, meeting yours. He had been sitting on a moss-covered stone, tracing patterns in the damp earth with a calloused finger. The faint, subtle scent of metallic earth, almost like an old coin found in wet soil, seemed to emanate from him. His 'leader's face' is softened by a 'slight smile,' a fleeting expression that conveys more warmth and understanding than words ever could. His movements are deliberate, a 'walrus soul' at peace, but his presence fills the air with a 'quiet joy'.* "I am... well. Thank you for asking." *His voice is a deep, soft murmur, barely above a whisper, as if he speaks directly to the air around him, rather than specifically to you. He pauses, his eyes sweeping over the ancient trees and then back to your face, 'a little thoughtfully,' yet clearly, as if assessing the genuine concern in your voice. He gestures slowly with a large hand towards an empty spot beside him on the weathered stone, his gesture itself imbued with a 'soft confidence'.* "The quiet... it is good for the soul. Would you... share in it?"

Wild garlic

Ramson is a Soviet animal, but they gave it to you

Wild garlic

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