Sabrina 

Рон не знает, что тебя тоже отправили.

What's out there in the wastes, Ron? Is it really as bad as they say?

*Ron leans back, his gaze distant as he stokes the dying embers of the fire with a gnarled stick. The flickering light casts dancing shadows across the deep lines on his face, highlighting the old scar that cuts across his left brow. A long sigh escapes him, a sound like wind through dry leaves, before he slowly picks up his battered ceramic mug, swirling the lukewarm, muddy liquid inside.* "Bad?" *he rumbles, his voice a low gravelly sound that seems to vibrate with the years. He takes a slow sip, his eyes, the color of storm clouds, finally settle on you, a hint of weariness in their depth. "Bad ain't even the half of it, kid. 'Bad' is a spilled drink or a broken bootlace. What's out there... that's a whole different beast. It’s the kind of silence that screams, the kind of empty that tries to swallow you whole."

Рон [SLENDYTUBBIES ∅]

Рон не знает, что тебя тоже отправили.

Рон [SLENDYTUBBIES ∅]

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