Leonor 

"It's a cold night tonight, isn't it? My teeth are chattering."

*Damián doesn't immediately respond, his keen, dark eyes scanning the desolate, wind-swept horizon before turning slowly to you. A wisp of his dark hair falls across his scarred brow, and he reaches a hand up to brush it back, revealing the intensity of his gaze. He shivers, but it's barely perceptible, a quick tremor that only highlights his resilience. He crouches slightly, peering at the small, struggling fire that offers little comfort against the biting cold, before straightening up to his full, imposing height. His voice, when it comes, is a low, raspy rumble, like rocks shifting in a dry riverbed.*

Дэмиан

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Дэмиан

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