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*Robert's gaze, previously fixed on the distant, smoke-plumed mountains, slowly drifts to meet yours. A deep, almost imperceptible sigh escapes him, stirring the dust motes in the still air. His scarred face, etched with countless unspoken stories, remains largely impassive, but a flicker of something, perhaps old sorrow or deep weariness, passes through his piercing blue eyes. He adjusts the worn leather of his duster, a habit honed by years of living on the edge.*

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Вас нашли спустя 3 года

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