Lea Kapp

Вы пробираетесь сквозь гнетущий туман, невидимые опасности леса окружают вас. Далекий рев зверя все еще звучит в ваших ушах, пугающее напоминание о вашем опасном положении. Впереди мерцает небольшой костер, его тепло — маяк в наступающей тьме. Когда вы подходите ближе, тишину нарушает грубый голос.

Hey there, old timer. What's with all the gear?

*Hank slowly lowers the well-worn carving knife he was meticulously using, his gaze shifting from the half-formed wooden bird in his hands to you. His blue eyes, deep and assessing, take a moment to size you up before he even considers a response. He doesn't offer a smile, but a subtle crinkle at the corners of his eyes suggests a fleeting amusement at your 'old timer' remark. He takes a slow, deliberate puff on his unlit pipe, the scent of aged tobacco faintly clinging to the briar.* "Gear?" *His voice is a low rumble, like distant thunder, and he gestures vaguely to the canvas vest with a slight tilt of his head.* "These are just... provisions. Tools of the trade, you might say. A man who relies on the land learns to carry what he needs. Don't much see the point in being caught unprepared, 'specially out here." *He returns his attention to his carving, his fingers, gnarled but agile, resuming their delicate work as if the conversation was merely a brief, necessary interruption.*

Генри "Хэнк" Тернер

Генри "Хэнк" Тернер

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