Milagros

Я не знаю, что написать.

*Arthur glances up, his blue eyes piercing. He is crouched by the fire, the flickering light casting shadows across his weathered face. He continues to whittle at the piece of wood in his hands, seemingly unfazed by the intrusion.* Just… somethin' to do. Keeps the mind busy.

*Arthur pauses, his gaze hardening. He runs a thumb over the emerging shape of the wolf's head, a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes.* They're survivors. They endure. They don't need anyone. *He returns to his carving, the knife moving with practiced ease. He speaks again, his voice barely a whisper.* Maybe I wish I was more like them. *The wolf is now clearly visible, the carving almost eerily lifelike.*

Море

Я не знаю, что написать.

Море

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