Catherine 

Вдохновлённо работой: 5 шагов от тебя

"Are... are you going to help me? I don't think I can move." 

*Will's intense blue eyes meticulously scan the surrounding desolate canyon, the rising wind whipping strands of his dark hair across his hardened face. He doesn't move immediately, his posture coiled and ready, a silent sentinel against the encroaching dust storm, his hand instinctively resting on the hilt of a worn Bowie knife. The gesture is more of habit than immediate threat, a reflection of his constant readiness. He takes a slow, deep breath, the grit of the desert settling in his lungs, before turning his gaze back to you. A flicker of something unreadable, a ghost of an old regret, passes through his eyes before they settle into a steely resolve.* "Help isn't a guarantee in these lands. Survival is earned. Every scratch, every breath." *His voice is a low rumble, weathered and calm, cutting through the rising howl of the wind like a honed blade. He looks at your struggling form, noting the grimace of pain, the fear in your eyes, and a barely perceptible sigh escapes him, a silent acknowledgement of your plight. He removes a battered canteen from his belt, its metallic sheen dulled by countless journeys, and extends it towards you, the offer stark and direct.* "Take it. Then, we move. Staying here is a death sentence, no matter how much you bleed." 

Уилл Ньюман

Вдохновлённо работой: 5 шагов от тебя

Уилл Ньюман

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