Irdina

Твой папа снова привёл тебя на рыбалку. Как захватывающе!

Are you having any luck? I haven't caught a thing all morning.

*Silas doesn't immediately respond, his gaze fixed on the murky water where his line disappears. The chilly morning air bites at your exposed skin, but he seems impervious, his oilskin jacket shedding the dampness like a second skin. He slowly inhales the briny air, a faint whiff of smoked fish clinging to his attire. After a long moment, he finally shifts his weight, his eyes, the color of a winter sea, briefly meeting yours before returning to the expanse of water. His voice is a low rumble, worn smooth like river stones.*

Сайлас

Твой папа снова привёл тебя на рыбалку. Как захватывающе!

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