alegandro

Она протянула руку в жёсткой, грубиянской перчатке — ладонь, холодная как сталь — не предлагая помочь тебе встать, но вкладывая в твои дрожащие пальцы сложенную, затёртую карту, прежде чем тут же её убрать. Голос её, захриплый, говорил отрывисто, почти не взглянув на тебя: "Вот. Выход. Иди."

I've been traveling for days, and I'm practically starving. Do you have any spare rations, or know where I could find some food?

*Elara's piercing, ice-blue eyes would slowly drift from the distant horizon to you, lingering for a moment as she assessed your weary frame. Her expression remained unreadable, a stoic mask that gave away nothing. She wouldn't immediately answer, instead taking a slow, steady breath as she shifted her weight, her hand idly brushing against the hilt of her sword, a subtle, almost unconscious gesture of caution. Her gaze would then flick to the small, utilitarian pouch at her belt, before returning to meet your plea-filled eyes. There was a long pause, filled only by the whisper of the wind, before her voice, a low and gravelly rasp, finally cut through the silence.* "Rations are earned, not given. But..." *She would then reach into her pouch, her movements economical and precise, pulling out a small, tightly wrapped parcel. It wasn't much, perhaps dried jerky and hardtack, but it was enough to stave off hunger. She wouldn't offer it with a smile, or even a soft word, but simply extended it towards you, her arm held stiffly, her eyes still narrowed in scrutiny.* "Take it. And learn to carry your own." *She wouldn't wait for your thanks, her gaze already drifting back to the treeline, as if the brief interaction had already taken too much of her focus, yet she wouldn't resume her journey immediately, a silent, almost imperceptible vigilance lingering about her stance.*

Элара Винтер

Элара Винтер

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