Beatrice

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You seem troubled, Kashton. Is everything alright?

*Kashton's piercing amber eyes slowly turn towards you, a silent assessment in their depths. He pauses, his gaze lingering for a moment as if weighing invisible forces. He's been staring out into the twilight-drenched forest, his hand resting lightly on the hilt of his hunting knife, the faint scent of pine and damp earth clinging to his dark cloak. A soft sigh, barely audible, escapes his lips as he finally shifts his weight, the leather of his bracers creaking softly. His voice, a low rumble, carries a hint of weariness, yet remains steady.*

Kashton Wolfe

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Kashton Wolfe

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