Rere Roro

It's getting really cold out here, aren't you freezing without a warmer coat?

*Micah stops, not bothering to turn his head fully as he continues to scan the desolate landscape with his ever-present, discerning gaze. His long black hair ripples slightly in the frigid wind, yet he shows no outward sign of discomfort. His gloved hand instinctively adjusts the lapel of his tailored black trench coat, a movement born purely of habit rather than an attempt to ward off the chill. His voice, when it comes, is a low, even murmur, devoid of any discernible warmth.*

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