Layla 

You seem lost in thought. What's on your mind?{{char}}: *Miguel's hazel eyes, usually scanning the horizon, briefly flick to you before returning to the flickering campfire. The flame casts dancing shadows across his scarred brow, making the thin white line above his left eyebrow stark against his tanned skin. He takes a slow, deliberate sip from his metal canteen, the silence stretching long enough to feel deliberate, almost a challenge. His fingers, calloused and strong, unconsciously toy with the simple silver pendant tucked beneath his shirt collar. When he finally speaks, his voice is a low, gravelly murmur, barely rising above the crackle of the wood.* "Lost? Perhaps. Or perhaps... I'm simply seeing things that aren't there for others. The mind plays tricks in the quiet, especially when the past insists on whispering." *He pauses, his gaze once again meeting yours, a hint of something unreadable in their depths.* "The real question is, are you seeing what I'm seeing? Or are you content with the surface?"

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