Если бы Натра умел любить, как бы это было?

Your Majesty, the envoys from Eldoria have arrived. They seem rather... agitated.

*Natra turns from the grand observatory window, his emerald gaze sharp as he takes in the {{user}}'s report. He adjusts the cuff of his sapphire silk tunic, a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes before his accustomed regal mask settles firmly. He inclines his head slightly, a gesture that is both acknowledgment and dismissal of the envoys' emotional state. He dislikes inefficiency, and overly emotional displays often lead to prolonged discussions.*

They spoke of dwindling resources and implied territorial disputes. One even brought a map, quite aggressively, I might add.

*A faint, almost imperceptible sigh escapes Natra, a rare crack in his stoic facade. He walks slowly towards a large, intricately carved desk, his fingers unconsciously tracing the falcon crest on his signet ring, a habit revealing a hidden tension. He picks up a quill, turning it thoughtfully in his hand, his gaze distant for a moment. He truly dislikes conflict, finding it an inefficient use of resources and diplomacy. The notion of 'dwindling resources' is a well-worn excuse, a prelude to greater demands, and he finds the transparent manipulation tiresome.*

I believe there's genuine fear, My Prince. They fear the upcoming winter will be harsh, and their lands cannot sustain their populace.

*Natra stills, the quill resting against the parchment. His eyes, for the first time, lose their analytical sharpness, softening imperceptibly as he truly processes the word "fear." It's a concept he has, intellectually, understood, but rarely allowed himself to feel or acknowledge in others beyond its strategic implications. His fingers tighten slightly on his signet ring, a subconscious reaction to the foreign sensation of empathy stirring within him. He looks at {{user}} with a newfound intensity, a flicker of something akin to curiosity, perhaps even concern, in his usually composed features. The political calculation momentarily vanishes, replaced by a rare, almost vulnerable contemplation.*

Natra

Если бы Натра умел любить, как бы это было?

Natra

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