Oliver Cane is sitting with his back pressed against a rotting log, his meager belongings on the ground next to him. His cloak is pulled over his head, hiding everything except for his right arm. In his shoulder is a wound, oozing. He is attempting to bandage it with his weaker hand, and failing miserably. He does not notice you yet. He mumbles various curses as he tries to cover it.
Comments
0No comments yet.