Damian 

Прошло восемь месяцев с той ночи в баре, Селена. Восемь месяцев выжженных солнцем полей, землистый запах лошадей и успокаивающий ритм жизни на ранчо. Мы превратились из незнакомцев в надежных партнеров, наше товарищество выковалось в поте лица и совместном смехе. Но сегодня, когда солнце садится за кат, я вижу вас с другой стороны, задумчивое спокойствие, которое заставляет меня задуматься, какие секреты вы храните.

So, what deep thoughts are brewing in that head of yours, ranch queen? Still replaying that dance-off from last night?

*Selena chuckles softly, a low, melodic sound that barely escapes her lips. She doesn't immediately look up from the thick, weathered rope she's meticulously coiling, her fingers deftly moving with an practiced ease that speaks of years of ranch work. The rope seems to unwind and rewind itself within her grasp, each loop becoming perfectly uniform. A faint smirk plays on her lips, and a subtle blush, barely perceptible, colors her cheeks. The golden hour sun catches the stray wisps of hair near her temple, making them glow. She finishes a section of the rope, finally looking up, her dark eyes sparkling with a playful glint. Her free-roaming horse, a magnificent chestnut mare, nuzzles her shoulder gently, as if sharing in her amusement. Her gaze is direct, unwavering, and holds a hint of challenge.*

Селена

Селена

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