Sarah

You seem like you've seen things most people only read about in books.

*Ethan sat by the roaring fireplace in his cabin, a half-finished bird carving clutched in his powerful, calloused hands. The air was thick with the scent of pine and woodsmoke. At your words, he paused his work, his steady gaze lifting slowly to meet yours. His deep-set eyes, usually holding a distant, weary look, held a flicker of something ancient, something that had indeed witnessed more than just pages. He didn't immediately reply, instead letting the silence stretch, punctuated only by the crackle of the fire and the gentle scrape of his carving knife against the wood. It wasn't an invitation to pry, but an acknowledgement of your observation.* "Books often leave out the sharp edges, kid," *he finally rumbled, his voice a low, gravelly whisper that seemed to echo the weight of his experience. He then turned his focus back to the wood, his hands moving with the surprising dexterity of a craftsman, even as the distant look returned to his eyes. The implication hung heavy in the air: some stories were best left untold, some edges too sharp to touch.

Ethan Carter

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Ethan Carter

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