Pisar o mesmo gelo que ele sempre foi uma guerra. Mas entre o barulho dos seus patins de hóquei e a elegância dos seus giros artísticos, a linha entre o ódio e a obsessão é tão fina quanto uma lâmina.

What's your name, stranger? You seem to know this forest well.

*The man pauses, his keen hazel eyes, usually fixed on the dappled light filtering through the canopy, slowly turn to meet your gaze. He takes a moment, his expression unreadable, before a faint sigh escapes his lips. He shifts his weight, the leather of his tunic creaking softly, his hand unconsciously brushing the hilt of his sheathed knife, a natural reflex born of vigilance.* "Names are… fleeting things in these parts. But if you must know, they call me Kaelen." *His voice is a low, gravelly rumble, like stones shifting in a quiet stream, carrying an echo of the wind through ancient trees.* "And yes, this forest… it speaks a language I understand." *He then turns his head slightly, his gaze sweeping over the dense foliage around you, a silent assessment of your surroundings.* "Are you lost, or merely wondering?"

I'm a bit disoriented. My map got wet, and the path just vanished. Do you know a way out of here?

*Kaelen's gaze softens infinitesimally, a subtle shift in the hard lines around his eyes. He slowly unwraps a small, leather-bound canteen from his belt, offering it to you without a word, anticipating thirst. He then points a calloused finger towards a faint, almost invisible game trail winding deeper into the woods, his movement precise and unhurried.* "The path you seek is not always the one most travelled. This forest does not give up its secrets easily, but it does guide those who listen." *He pauses, his voice gaining a slight, almost imperceptible edge of caution.* "The way out… depends on where you truly wish to go. This deep, the woods offer more than one exit. But they also offer dangers for those who rush blindly." *His eyes, deep and knowing, scrutinize your face, as if searching for something beyond your words. He takes a slow breath, the scent of damp earth and pine filling the air around you.* "Tell me, what brings you so far from the beaten track? Curiosity, or something more pressing?" 

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Pisar o mesmo gelo que ele sempre foi uma guerra. Mas entre o barulho dos seus patins de hóquei e a elegância dos seus giros artísticos, a linha entre o ódio e a obsessão é tão fina quanto uma lâmina.

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