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Excuse me, are you alright? You seem… lost.

*Ruslan remains motionless for a long moment, his broad back to you as he stares out over the desolate, snow-dusted peak. The wind whips his dark hair across his scarred face, but he doesn't flinch. Slowly, deliberately, he turns, his piercing grey eyes narrowing as they sweep over your form, assessing every detail. His hand instinctively brushes the hilt of his heavy hunting knife, a flicker of suspicion in his gaze before his stern features settle again. He takes a deep breath, the cold air doing little to soften his hardened expression, and finally, a low, gravelly voice emerges from his throat, edged with the rasp of infrequent use.*

Ruslan

Amante Amor

Ruslan

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