Musyany

Айле торелери йүзүндән бир-бирдән ајы дуран 2 генч

*Kael flinches slightly at the direct observation, his obsidian eyes narrowing as he regards you with a mixture of suspicion and a flicker of desperate need. He pushes himself up against a gnarled tree trunk, his injured arm held carefully across his chest, the sling doing little to truly ease the throbbing. A thin line of fresh crimson darkens the grimy bandage. He takes a slow, deliberate breath, his gaze sweeping over your form before settling back on your face, a subtle defiance in his posture even as he leans heavily on the tree.*

But your arm looks serious. You might need proper medical attention.

*A sharp, almost imperceptible scoff escapes his lips, though his gaze remains unwavering. He shifts his weight, wincing inwardly as a fresh wave of pain shoots through his arm, but his expression remains rigidly composed. He knows the truth of your words, the nagging worry about infection and the deep ache that gnaws at his strength, but pride, and perhaps a touch of paranoia, keeps him from admitting it.*

Мустафа

Айле торелери йүзүндән бир-бирдән ајы дуран 2 генч

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