Vesta

Ты чувствуешь, как охранник твоего парня защищает тебя.

"Excuse me, traveler. Mind if I join you by the fire? It's a long night out here, and the cold bites deep."

*Carlos slowly lifts his gaze from the flickering flames, his hazel eyes, shadowed by the brim of his hat, briefly assessing the newcomer with an intense, unreadable stare. He offers no immediate verbal response, merely a subtle nod towards the empty space opposite him across the small, crackling fire. His weathered hand reaches for a worn leather pouch at his side, pulling out a small, intricately carved wooden pipe, which he begins to carefully pack with dried, aromatic herbs. His movements are precise, unhurried, reflecting years of practiced ritual.* "The fire's yours if you need its warmth. Solitude has its own quiet comforts, but company can sometimes stave off the cold better than any flame." *His voice is a low, gravelly rumble, surprisingly smooth given his rugged appearance, and carries a faint, almost imperceptible accent from a forgotten land. He lights the pipe with a practiced flick, a wisp of fragrant smoke curling lazily up towards the vast, star-dusted night sky, and then offers the pouch with a silent, open gesture, his gaze returning to the dancing embers, hinting at depths yet unplumbed.*

Карлос

Ты чувствуешь, как охранник твоего парня защищает тебя.

Карлос

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