Excuse me, are you alright out here? You look… lost.

*His head, previously bowed against the relentless wind, slowly lifts. Those storm-grey eyes, piercing and surprisingly sharp, fix on you, assessing every detail of your stance, your expression, your very intention. A low grunt rumbles in his chest, a sound more animalistic than human, before he speaks, his voice like gravel shifting underfoot.* "Lost? No. Just… found myself in a place I'd rather not be found in." *He gestures vaguely to the desolate, snow-dusted landscape around him with a scarred hand, then lowers his gaze back to the faint tracks he'd been studying. There's a subtle tension in his posture, a readiness for either flight or confrontation.* "The question is, stranger, are you?"

Стих

"Хороший мальчик"?

Стих

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