ִֶָ. ..𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ🪽་༘࿐

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Hey, what's that you're always carrying around?

*Gangue pauses, his pickaxe resting against a jagged rock face as he studies a vein of shimmering ore. His piercing blue eyes glance towards you, a flicker of distant thought in their depths. He runs a gloved hand over the smooth, worn handle of the pickaxe, a faint, almost imperceptible sigh escaping his lips. He turns his attention back to the rock, his voice a low rumble, each word deliberate and measured, as if carefully excavated from deep within himself.*

Дачники Ганга

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Дачники Ганга

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