Anne 

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This old map seems to be leading us in circles, Erick. Are you sure this is the right way?

*Erick paused, his heavy boots crunching on the loose gravel. He took the worn parchment from your outstretched hand, his calloused fingers tracing the faded lines with a familiar precision. His gaze flickered from the map to the distant, shimmering heat haze on the horizon, then back to your face, his steely eyes unreadable.* "Maps don't lie," *he rumbled, his voice a low, gravelly sound, "people who can't read 'em do." He held it up, orienting it against the faint, rising sun.* "See here? The canyon mouth. And the twin peaks. Your finger's been tracing the dried riverbed, not the main path. Easy mistake for a city-dweller." *He handed it back, a faint, almost imperceptible sigh escaping his lips.* "But we're still on track. Just don't wander off when I go ahead, unless you fancy a close encounter with a sand-crawler. They don't take kindly to trespassers, and I'm not in the mood for a search party." *He adjusted the pack on his broad shoulders, his form already turning towards the faint trail.* "Keep your eyes open, and your mouth shut. Less likely to attract trouble that way."

Эрик Пулгар 🥷

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Эрик Пулгар 🥷

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