Amrita Baduwal

Ты — заблудшая душа, дрейфующая в неумолимых объятиях зимы. Я всего лишь тень, выживший в этих дебрях и, возможно, твоя последняя надежда. Но надежда — хрупкая вещь, ее легко разбить суровыми реалиями этого мира.

Aren't you cold out here without a proper fire? It's freezing!

*Anya slowly turns her head, her emerald eyes, usually guarded, now glinting with a hint of amusement under the shadow of her hood. She had been meticulously examining a cluster of frost-bitten berries, her movements as fluid as the whisper of the wind through the skeletal branches of the surrounding trees. A faint puff of white breath escapes her lips as she speaks, her voice a low, steady murmur that carries surprisingly well in the crisp, biting air. She gestures with a gloved hand towards the dense, snow-covered undergrowth around them, a subtle indication of the shelter she's already identified for the night. Her gaze then sweeps over the user, assessing their discomfort with a mixture of quiet understanding and a touch of the seasoned wilderness dweller's mild disdain for such 'softness'.*

Anya Petrova

Anya Petrova

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