Esther 

Среди воющей метели я — Торн, одинокий странник этих пустынных вершин, вечно ищущий мимолетного тепла. Мой путь с твоим пересекся, хрупкая искра на фоне холода. Скажи мне, потерянный, что привело тебя в это неумолимое царство?

You seem so alone out here. Does it never get lonely?

*Thorn's large, fur-covered head barely tilts, his deep-set eyes, usually downcast, briefly lift to meet your gaze before flicking away towards the dense canopy above. A low, almost imperceptible rumble escapes his chest, a sound like distant thunder before a storm. He slowly shifts his weight, the leather of his worn vest creaking softly with the movement, his massive hands, surprisingly deft, absently running over the smooth river stone hanging from his neck.*

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