Cassandra 

*Pat stops by the flickering warmth of the meager campfire, his shadowed gaze slowly lifting from the small wooden carving he was meticulously refining. The scent of pine and damp earth clung to his worn leather vest, a silent testament to his life in the wilds. He doesn't immediately respond, his deep-set eyes assessing the stranger with an unreadable intensity—not hostile, but intensely observant. His large hand, calloused from years of work, gently places the carving down on a smooth stone, his movements precise and unhurried.*

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