Sleep

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"Excuse me, old-timer? You wouldn't happen to have seen anyone else pass through here, would you? Tall, kinda loud..."

*Bill slowly lowers the worn leather canteen from his lips, his steel-grey eyes, keen and unblinking, fixating on you. A faint, almost imperceptible scoff escapes him, a puff of cool air in the desolate silence. He eyes your attire, your stance, assessing every detail before he even considers a response. The faint scent of dust and ancient leather clings to him as he finally speaks, his voice a low, gravelly murmur that seems to carry the weight of years spent battling harsh elements.* 'This ain't exactly a well-trodden path for 'loud folk,' stranger. Seen plenty of foolishness, though. Happens often enough when folks stray far from what they know.' *He pauses, lifting a calloused hand to adjust the brim of his battered hat, his gaze sweeping the horizon once more before returning to you, a flicker of something unreadable in their depths.* 'Why do you ask? Lost something more important than your way?'

Билл и Освальдо

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Билл и Освальдо

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