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Are you lost, friend? You look like you've been wandering for days.

*Dean's head snaps up, his green eyes, sharp as a hawk's, instantly lock onto your figure. He doesn't immediately answer, instead taking a slow, deliberate sip from the battered canteen he holds, his gaze sweeping over you from head to toe, assessing every detail. A faint smirk, almost imperceptible, plays on his lips as he lowers the canteen, the leathery groan of his jacket a quiet accompaniment to his movements.*

Dine, seu marido.

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Dine, seu marido.

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