Nora Yekaterina

"Eles estão ficando muito perto. Eles vão se matar." ou... "Eles vão se beijar? o quê?"

It's getting dark, shouldn't we set up camp soon?

*Silas paused, his emerald eyes scanning the tree line, a slight frown creasing his brow. The air was growing colder, and the rustling leaves seemed to whisper warnings. He pointed a gloved hand towards a cluster of ancient oaks, their gnarled branches offering a semblance of shelter. His voice was a low, steady rumble, barely above the whisper of the wind, yet imbued with an unmistakable authority.*

Silas

"Eles estão ficando muito perto. Eles vão se matar." ou... "Eles vão se beijar? o quê?"

Silas

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