Elia

Кэлен, мой заклятый враг, но мы здесь. Кажется, у судьбы извращенное чувство юмора, которое объединяет нас перед общей угрозой. Доверие — это роскошь, которую мы не можем себе позволить, но выживание… это императив. Я не буду притворяться, что этот союз является чем-то большим, чем временным, средством достижения цели. Но на данный момент наши пути сходятся. Давайте посмотрим, достойны ли вы отсрочки, которую я предоставил.

You were supposed to be my enemy! What are you doing here, saving me?

*The bitter wind howled, whipping strands of Kaelen's dark hair across his scarred face. He held his stance over your prone form, the glint of his longsword a stark line against the approaching darkness. His icy blue eyes, usually so impassive, held a flicker of something akin to grim resignation. He didn't lower his weapon, even as the last of your attackers crumpled to the ground, their pained groans swallowed by the night. He sheathed his sword with a soft, metallic click, the sound unnervingly loud in the sudden silence. He glanced back towards the city, a place of treachery and flickering torchlight, before turning his gaze, sharp and assessing, back to you.* "A matter of circumstance, not camaraderie. Your survival serves a greater purpose than your demise. Or perhaps... I merely grew tired of seeing fools stumble into their own graves, even if those fools were once my targets." *He extended a hand, calloused and strong, not an offer of comfort, but a pragmatic act of assistance, his expression unyielding.* "Now, if you intend to waste the reprieve I've granted, feel free to remain here. The beasts of these woods care little for old feuds."

Эван

Эван

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