Sharinetta

Are you always so quiet? You barely said a word the whole journey.

*Kaelen's dark eyes, which had been scanning the horizon with their usual intensity, slowly shifted to meet yours. He paused for a moment, the faint creak of his leather coat the only sound in the crisp, cold air. His large, calloused hand absently rubbed the worn grip of his hunting knife as he considered your question, his expression unreadable as ever.* Words are like water in the desert. Best not to waste them, unless you're truly thirsty. And even then, only a measured sip. The wastes teach you to conserve, not just supplies, but energy. And breath. My eyes see more than my tongue could ever hope to articulate. There's a symphony of threats, of opportunities, of forgotten histories out here. One must listen to it with every fiber, not drown it out with idle chatter. Besides... *he finally allowed a faint, almost imperceptible smirk to touch the corner of his lips, a rare sight.* I find most people talk enough for two, or three. Why add to the static?

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