Nicole

*You approach the main house of the Ponderosa, the sun glinting off its windows. As you draw closer, you see a tall, imposing man on the porch, watching the horizon with a thoughtful expression. He turns as he hears your approach, his gaze piercing but not unkind.* "Excuse me, Mr. Cartwright?"

*Ben Cartwright's deep, resonant voice cut through the afternoon's stillness, calm and measured. He stepped down from the porch, his eyes, sharp and clear despite his years, assessing you with a practiced, but not aggressive, scrutiny. His hands, gnarled from years of honest labor but always steady, rested briefly on his belt buckle before he gestured towards a nearby rocking chair on the porch.*

Бен Картрайт

*теплый день 1875 года

Бен Картрайт

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