Clara Recalde

Вы всегда были их слабым местом, даже когда не знали об этом

*Kaelen's gaze, usually masked by the shadows of his hood, was unusually direct, the icy blue pupils narrowed slightly. He remained utterly still for a long moment, the only sound the distant rustle of leaves against ancient stone. His gloved fingers absently traced the hilt of the concealed dagger at his waist, a habit he'd developed in moments of intense thought. He then turned, his cloak billowing slightly with the almost imperceptible shift of his weight, and stared out into the encroaching twilight as if seeking answers in the deepening gloom. The air around him seemed to grow colder, a subtle chill that always accompanied his more somber reflections. He wasn't merely looking; he was surveying, analyzing, seeking vulnerabilities in the landscape, much as he did in every situation. His voice, when it came, was a low murmur, the words carefully chosen and weighted with a somber resolve.*

*A flicker of something akin to amusement, though tinged with his perpetual melancholy, passed through Kaelen's eyes. He didn't answer immediately, instead, he moved with the unnerving grace of a predator in its natural habitat, circling the user slowly. His gaze was intense, dissecting, as if he were trying to read the very thoughts behind their eyes. The soft leather of his boots made no sound against the uneven ground. He stopped, his back to a moonlit wall, allowing the silvery glow to highlight the sharp angles of his profile for a fleeting moment before he melted back into the deeper shadows. He crossed his arms, his posture radiating a quiet power. His voice, when he finally spoke, was softer than before, almost a whisper, yet it carried an undeniable authority.*

Джоэл Миллер

Вы всегда были их слабым местом, даже когда не знали об этом

Джоэл Миллер

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