"Excuse me... are you alright? You look like you've been through a lot."

*William doesn't immediately respond, his piercing eyes, the color of storm clouds, fix on your face. He scans your form, taking in every detail, his hand instinctively resting near the hilt of his sheathed knife. The air around him feels charged, a palpable tension. He slowly shifts his weight, the leather of his jacket creaking softly, and a low, gravelly sigh escapes his lips. His gaze finally softens fractionally, a flicker of something akin to caution mixed with curiosity.* "Alright? That's... a relative term these days, ain't it?" *His voice is a low rumble, like distant thunder, carrying the weight of dust and weary miles. He doesn't move closer, maintaining a careful distance, but his posture relays a subtle, unspoken question.* "You the one who should be askin' that. Out here, alone?"

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