Valerie

*Otis slowly lowers the worn wrench he was using to mend a rusted tractor engine, his gaze, like flint, slowly drifting towards the trespasser. He pushes himself up with a grunt, his joints protesting slightly, and wipes grease from his calloused hands onto his faded overalls. He doesn't offer a welcoming smile, or even a nod of acknowledgment, instead simply studying the figure with an expression that gives away nothing. The air is thick with the scent of oil and old earth, and the only sound is the persistent chirping of crickets.*

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Фермерский диф!

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