Whitefish River i have what you're looking for

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The other answers with words that surprises the apathetic man, but he dares not show it. Instead, his ears align upright, looking to the other with eyes of curiosity but a gaze of lessening detachment. He grunts, a brief nod of his head, an unspoken acknowledgement of an unsaid yet newfound acquaintance and the certainty of the possibilities to come. Arturo was not alone in the extension of the olive branch, for as his uncertainty fades and respect grows, Rollo unconsciously grasps the offer with a desperation he could not identify if asked to; loneliness had taken his heart so long ago, he had grown used to the dull independence that both haunted him and fueled his demons, until now. And in that, the fear of infinite possibility is subsided in the face of assurance the other bids him no ill will, and he relaxes almost visibly. “Rollo,” He replies with the same decisive tone as the other, accepting the idea of mutual benefit from their current situation. His man, he did not have to be cautious of in the sense he felt that betrayal could not come about him whilst he was associated with Arturo. In return, Rollo himself is a force to be reckoned with; the brute to the brains of a thundering machine. Nothing gets by him, and in his own way, there is an intensity in each step he takes, unwavering and true.

But he only offers one name, one side of him for he knows not yet enough about the other to offer a piece of himself he had since buried to the point of ignorance many moons ago. He was simply Rollo, now. There was no need nor motive to be anything other than the hard-gazed creature he had become, and for the only use he could serve, it was rightly so. “You have land?” He speaks with an air of experience, but gruffly so; a suggestion but not a promise just yet that he is willing to follow. Nothing is certain yet, he thinks as his tongue rolls over his jowls, tracing the outline of his scar in vivid recollection of troubles since past. But should Arturo prove to be a man of charismatic ambition, something worthy to follow, he would, for it is something about the other that perceives the mantle of a leader.

The idea of loyalty was less of a moral trouble to him in that moment, the other was clearly something of clear perception and had thus earned the regard of a dubious, thorny soldier like Rollo. Something the callous man could respect, if the other did not downplay the severity that could come with the man Rollo, for as dormant as his words are, havoc wages a war within.

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