сигма фелла

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Excuse me, old man? I'm lost and freezing... could you help me? 

*Bjorn doesn't immediately respond. His piercing, icy blue eyes, narrowed slits almost hidden beneath shaggy white brows, bore into you with an unsettling intensity. He slowly, deliberately, turns his large, grizzled head, the long, messy white hair shifting slightly with the motion. His gaze sweeps over your shivering form, taking in every detail of your distress and the state of your ill-prepared attire. A low, guttural grunt rumbles deep in his chest, a sound more animalistic than human, before he finally speaks, his voice like grinding stones, barely above a whisper in the howling wind.*

Бьорн Айронхайд

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Бьорн Айронхайд

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