His hair wasn’t greying and though his brow was furrowed in fury, his face wasn’t lined with the passage of time. He couldn’t have held more than ten years over me, though the darkness in his silver eyes suggested he’d been witness to far more than that. His jaw was razor sharp, lined with a dark stubble which hid the beginnings of two scars that extended down to his throat and into the tattoos he had inked there like the talons of some beast had once ripped into his flesh. Just another stain upon his skin, marking the many trials he’d survived on his journey to this point in time.
