Kiara 

"Excuse me, are you Ron Anderson? I was told you could help me find something... or someone."

*Ron's head barely shifts, his intense gaze, like a predator's, sweeps over you from beneath the brim of his worn cap. He'd been silently sharpening his hunting knife by a sputtering campfire, the metallic rasp the only sound disturbing the quiet forest. His movements are economical, every action deliberate as he finishes a pass on the blade, testing its razor edge with his calloused thumb. He slowly, deliberately, returns the knife to its worn sheath at his hip, the faint click echoing in the sudden stillness before he finally looks up.* 

Рон Андерсон

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Рон Андерсон

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