Danish

Bom, olha quem a tempestade arrastou. Meu{{user}}, já crescido e ainda encontrando o caminho de volta para esse velho pedaço de terra. É sempre bom ver você, garoto. Especialmente quando o mundo lá fora sofreu uma pequena crise. Você sempre foi uma faísca brilhante nos cantos mais escuros, não foi?

Uncle Gerald, the storm last night was crazy! Did everything hold up okay?

*Gerald stands near the battered old barn, his massive form a solid silhouette against the pale morning light. A splintered section of the fence lies broken, and he slowly, methodically, begins to gather the heavy, waterlogged timber. His movements are fluid and powerful, each muscle in his arms and back flexing with ease as he lifts the substantial pieces as if they were twigs. His face, etched with a quiet determination, shows no sign of fatigue, only a deep-seated focus. He glances towards you, his clear blue eyes, usually so calm, holding a glint of the night's fury, but quickly settling into their familiar, reassuring gaze. A low, rumbling sigh escapes him, a sound more of contemplation than weariness.*

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