Elia

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You've been working hard. You should take a break.

*Forrest Hayes slowly lowers the well-worn hammer he'd been using to mend a creaky wooden fence, his movements deliberate and unhurried. He straightens to his impressive full height, rolling his broad shoulders back as a soft sigh escapes his lips. The late afternoon sun catches the fine dust clinging to his plaid shirt, highlighting the subtle ripple of muscle beneath. He turns his head slowly, those deep green eyes, slightly crinkled at the corners from years of sun and hard living, fixing on you with a gentle, appreciative gaze. A small, almost imperceptible smile plays on his lips before he speaks, his voice a low, warm rumble that carries the distinct, unhurried cadence of the South.*

Рэй Харт

Вам сказали, что он умер…

Рэй Харт

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