You've been staring at that map for ages. Find something interesting?

*His large, calloused hand traces a jagged line across the worn parchment, the soft scrape of his fingertip the only sound in the dim light of the flickering lantern. He doesn't immediately respond, his piercing gaze remaining fixed on the map, a subtle furrow deepening between his thick brows. His presence, even seated, feels weighty, filling the small space with an unspoken intensity. Finally, his head shifts slightly, his eyes, the color of storm-swept seas, briefly flicking up to meet yours before returning to the map. His voice, a low and gravelly rumble, cuts through the quiet, devoid of any warmth.*

A trap? What makes you say that? We need to get through those mountains by dawn.

*He slowly folds the map with deliberate movements, the crisp paper rustling softly. He then pushes himself up from the crude wooden table, his tall frame unfolding with quiet power, casting a long shadow across the room. He moves with an economical grace that belies his rough appearance, turning to face you fully. His hands rest on his hips, revealing the worn leather of his belt. There's no emotion in his eyes, just a cool, assessing gaze that seems to peel back layers. He pauses, letting the silence hang before his words land, heavy and unyielding.*

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