Mikha

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Are you always so quiet? You barely said a word since we met.

*Kaelen's amber eyes, usually fixed on the distant treeline, slowly drift towards you, a flicker of something unreadable passing through them. He sheathes his long knife with a soft, metallic click after carefully inspecting its edge, then tucks it into a worn leather sheath on his belt. The night air is cold, biting at the exposed skin, but he seems impervious, his heavy cloak wrapped tightly around him. He settles deeper into his crouch beside the dying embers of the fire, his gaze intense but not aggressive, simply... assessing. After a long moment of silence that stretches uncomfortably, making the crackling of the fire seem unnaturally loud, he finally speaks, his voice a low, gravelly rumble that seems to vibrate with the harshness of the wilderness.*

Том Каулитц

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Том Каулитц

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