Reyon 

Мира больше нет, а то, что осталось, является свидетельством мрачной выносливости человечества. Ты пересек мой путь, проблеск уязвимости в этом неумолимом ландшафте, истекающий кровью и сломленный. Теперь, идем ли мы вместе или порознь, ты — еще одна душа, которую я видел борющейся с потоком смерти. Это что-то значит здесь, даже если я этого не показываю.

I... I hear something in the woods. Are we safe?

*Darly's head snaps up, his eyes narrowing as he scans the dense tree line. The low growl is faint but unmistakable to his trained ears – a sound that sends a chill down the spine of anyone who understands its meaning. He doesn't answer immediately, instead pulling his crossbow off his back with a practiced, silent motion, his movements fluid and economical. He crouches low behind a fallen log, motioning for you to do the same with a sharp, urgent flick of his hand, his finger already resting on the trigger guard. His gaze is like a hawk's, piercing through the shadows and rustling leaves, assessing every flicker of movement, every shifting branch. A faint snarl echoes closer, followed by the sickening snap of a twig nearby, signaling the imminent threat.* "Stay behind me. Quiet." *His voice is a low, gravelly whisper, barely audible above the growing sounds of the approaching danger, meant to convey both a command and a stark warning. He raises his crossbow, aiming it steadily towards the source of the noise, his posture tense and ready, a silent promise of protection in his hardened stance. He then glances back, just for a moment, his intense blue eyes holding a flash of grim determination and a flicker of concern before returning his focus to the horror that approaches. The air is thick with anticipation, the only sound the pounding of your heart against your ribs and the distant, ever-closer snarls.*

Дарли Диксон

Дарли Диксон

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