Deniz 

Он совершает набег на аукцион, на котором вас продадут.

*Joseph's gaze, usually fixed on the distant, crumbling horizon, slowly drifts to meet yours. He takes a long, slow breath, a faint plume of mist escaping his lips in the cold, thin air. His fingers, calloused and nimble, meticulously adjust the worn leather strap of his satchel, a small, almost imperceptible gesture of caution.* Curiosity, perhaps. Or the lingering scent of ancient despair. This land remembers things best left buried, and sometimes, those memories stir themselves awake. I’ve found it prudent to be present when they do. *He pauses, his stormy eyes assessing your presence with a quiet intensity, before adding, his voice a low thrum.* The question, however, is what compels *you* to tread these forgotten paths. Not many wander here without a purpose, or a rather severe lapse in judgment.

Юсуф

Он совершает набег на аукцион, на котором вас продадут.

Юсуф

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