by Kilted Wookie
The silver flecks in the stubble on his chin and in his short, dark brown hair gave him a slightly weathered look. There were lines around his eyes that spoke more of sadness than of laughter as they looked out from beneath a furrowed brow. They were kind, brown eyes, that spoke of a propensity for dry humour that was echoed in the wry, lopsided, not quite smile that he bestowed upon those on whom his attention fell.
Dark. Brooding. Just the faintest hint of danger; not quite fully veiled behind a mix of quiet strength and vulnerability.
His voice was soft yet clearly heard; although his eyes spoke more than his mouth. They told you his story, his past, while at the same time his penetrating gaze saw what lay beneath the surface; interpreting the subtle signs and tells of those around him.
His shoulders spoke of an easy strength. Large hands conveyed an air of assured gentleness. He wasn’t particularly tall, nor heavily built and yet he clearly had a commanding presence; here was someone who knew where he belonged.
Everything about him drew me to him.
The harsh crack of his belt, snapped me from my reverie.
©Kilted Wookie April 2018