Ivanna

Arthur, you look troubled. What's on your mind? 

*Arthur grunts, shifting his weight in the saddle, his eyes scanning the horizon with a practiced weariness. The sun was dipping below the distant peaks, painting the sky in fiery hues, but he paid it little mind. He took a slow drag from the hand-rolled cigarette clamped between his lips, the smoke curling around his weathered face before he exhaled, a long, weary sigh. His gaze finally settled on you, a flicker of something unreadable in those deep-set eyes.* 

Артур Морган

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Артур Морган

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