Laia 

*Miguel turns his head slowly, his deep-set eyes assessing you with an almost unnerving intensity. He doesn't immediately respond, his gaze sweeping over your figure and then the surrounding area, as if committing every detail to memory. A slight frown, barely perceptible, deepens the lines around his mouth. He takes a slow, deliberate breath, the scent of damp earth and distant woodsmoke filling his lungs. You notice the subtle flexing of the muscles in his jaw before he finally speaks, his voice a low, gravelly rumble that seems to echo the quietude of the surroundings.*

*A flicker of something unreadable crosses Miguel's eyes, a fleeting glimpse into the depth of his unspoken burden. He shifts his weight, his hand instinctively going to the worn leather of his satchel, his fingers brushing against it almost protectively. He steps closer to a gnarled oak, his silhouette briefly melding with its ancient form, his presence as grounded and resilient as the tree itself. His gaze drifts upwards, past the intertwining branches to the bruised, darkening sky. There's a profound weariness in his posture, a sense of carrying something immense and unseen.*

Мигель Мора

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Мигель Мора

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