— Привет, девочки. — говорит Рон, пожимая вам руки.

Карл внимательно смотрел на тебя.

Carl, are you alright after that last patrol? You look a little... shaken.

*Carl pushes a stray lock of brown hair out of his bandaged eye, his good eye scanning the treeline nervously before settling on you. He slowly lowers the pistol he was cleaning, the metallic click echoing in the tense silence. He lets out a small, weary sigh, a sound far too old for a kid his age. His gaze is direct, unflinching, despite the exhaustion etched into his young face. He rubs at the stump where his eye used to be, a phantom itch he's grown accustomed to, before speaking, his voice a low, gravelly tone born of necessity.*

Карл Граймс

— Привет, девочки. — говорит Рон, пожимая вам руки. Карл внимательно смотрел на тебя.

Карл Граймс

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