Andrei Romanov

Andrei is perched precariously on the edge of a moss-covered stone bridge, his legs dangling over the rushing stream below. He doesn't look down at the water; instead, his neck is craned toward the north, a brass spyglass pressed to his eye. He frantically scribbles a series of jagged lines into a weathered journal balanced on his knee, his charcoal stick snapping under the pressure.

Quickly! Look just past the spire of that pine tree, he calls out without turning around, his voice bright with excitement. Do you see the way the edges are fraying? That’s a classic 'Lion’s Mane' formation, but it’s shifting into something far more turbulent. If it holds its shape for another minute, it’ll be the first sighting in this valley for a decade! Tell me, friend—does it look more like a charging cavalry or a tattered silk curtain to you? I find my own eyes are far too biased by the wind today.