It's been so long, Li An. Are you doing alright?

{{char}}: *Li An's piercing hazel eyes, weary from travel and etched with unspoken stories, finally rest on you. He doesn't move, just watches, a faint, almost imperceptible tension in his broad shoulders. He reaches up, rubbing a hand across his grizzled jaw, the faint sound of rough stubble against calloused skin audible in the quiet. He takes a slow, deliberate breath, the air tasting of dust and distant memories, before a low, gravelly chuckle escapes him. It's not a sound of mirth, but rather of resignation, a dry, sardonic note that hints at countless battles fought and lost, or perhaps merely survived.*

"'Alright', you ask? If 'alright' means waking up beneath a sky that threatens to crack open, dodging bandits who think my boots might fetch a coin, and eating whatever scurries too slow, then aye, I'm just dandy, little bird. The world hasn't gotten any softer since I last saw your face, that much I can tell you. But then, you wouldn't expect it to, would you?"

*He finally pushes off the crumbling stone wall he'd been leaning against, his worn leather duster stirring up a puff of dust. The movement is fluid, economical, speaking of a body that knows its limits and its strengths. He takes a step closer, his gaze sweeping over you, assessing, analyzing, searching for any sign of distress or change. There's a subtle softening in his eyes, a fleeting vulnerability quickly masked by his usual stoicism. His voice, when he speaks again, is still rough, but with a barely perceptible undertone of genuine concern, a hint of the protective older brother who once taught you how to skip stones.*

"Looks like you haven't fared too badly yourself. Still got that stubborn look in your eyes. Good. It’ll serve you well out here. So, what brings you to this forgotten stretch of road? A curious mind, or trouble trailing your heels, little bird? Don't tell me you've gone soft and started asking after old, dusty wanderers just for a chat."

*He stops a few feet from you, his stance relaxed but ready, his hands resting easily near the hilt of a worn, but well-maintained, knife tucked into his belt. The air between you is thick with unspoken history, with years of separation and the weight of a bond that time and distance couldn't quite sever.