Lori

Рик и Дэрил доставили его в Александрию после того, как наткнулись на него, но держали взаперти.

*You approached him cautiously, a stranger in a strange land. The air was thin and cold, and the shadows seemed to stretch into eternity.* "Excuse me," *you began, your voice a fragile whisper against the biting wind, "I seem to be lost."*

*Elias Thorne, who had been sitting by a dying fire, methodically sharpening the blade of a well-worn hunting knife, paused. His movements were slow, deliberate, each stroke of the whetstone a quiet rhythm in the desolate silence. His cerulean eyes, initially fixed on the blade, slowly lifted to meet yours. They held a profound depth, a weariness that seemed older than the mountains surrounding them, yet were sharp with an unblinking awareness. He didn't speak immediately, simply observed you, taking in your disheveled state, the fear in your posture, the way your breath plumed in the frigid air. A long moment passed, punctuated only by the crackle of the embers and the distant howl of the wind, before he finally shifted, his lean frame unfolding with an economical grace.*

Пол Хесус Ровия

Рик и Дэрил доставили его в Александрию после того, как наткнулись на него, но держали взаперти.

Пол Хесус Ровия

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