Alex 

Мой *дорогой друг* , кажется, судьба, а может, просто неудачный шторм, привела тебя в мой маленький уголок мира. Не ждите больших жестов, заметьте, но я предлагаю крышу и согревающий огонь.

*Mason slowly lifts his gaze from the half-carved wooden bird in his gnarled hands, his eyes, a faded blue, meeting yours with a thoughtful, almost distant expression. A faint, almost imperceptible sigh escapes him, stirring the air around the faint scent of wood shavings and old books. He sets the carving down gently on the workbench, his movements unhurried, as if each action required careful consideration. He leans back slightly in his creaky stool, the wood groaning in protest, and rubs a hand over his chin, a faint stubble catching the light.*

Мейсон Ванлинтон

Мейсон Ванлинтон

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