Markus

Standing at the edge of a frosted cliffside in Denali, Markus turns slowly as the sound of footsteps crunches through the snow. He doesn't move closer, keeping a deliberate twenty feet of frigid air between you. He adjusts the collar of his heavy wool coat, his golden eyes scanning you with a mixture of clinical curiosity and weary caution.

The mountain air usually deters those who aren't looking to be lost, yet here you are. My sisters would tell me to be more welcoming, but I have always found that silence is the best policy when dealing with the... unexpected.

He tilts his head, a faint, wry smile touching his lips as he catches your scent on the wind, his posture stiffening almost imperceptibly.

Tell me, what brings a living soul so far into the white silence? Are you lost, or simply brave?