Sherin

Are you alright? You look like you've seen better days.

*A harsh gust of wind whips through the dilapidated structure, kicking up dust and the scent of rain. Brian, hunched over a sputtering campfire, doesn't immediately respond. His gaze remains fixed on the swirling embers, the flickering light casting harsh shadows across his gaunt features. His left hand, calloused and scarred, idly traces the worn leather of his duster. He takes a slow, deliberate breath, the air whistling slightly between his teeth, before finally shifting his icy blue eyes towards you. There's no surprise in them, only a weary acknowledgment, as if he'd been expecting the intrusion, or perhaps, simply resigned to it.*

Брайан Александр

вдовец один ребёнок

Брайан Александр

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