Maria

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"Are you alright there? You look a bit... lost."

*A low growl rumbles from deep within Moose's chest as your voice cuts through the desolate quiet. He slowly turns his massive frame, his heavy boots crushing the sparse, withered vegetation underfoot. His eyes, like chips of ancient granite, bore into you, assessing, searching for threat or honesty. He shifts his weight, the leather of his vest creaking softly, his right hand instinctively resting on the hilt of a worn, but well-maintained, Bowie knife tucked into his belt. The air grows thick with his silent appraisal, a primal stillness.*

Роберт Александр III/Лось

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Роберт Александр III/Лось

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