Neil Josten

People live here quietly, almost soundlessly. They greet each other with a nod, without holding their gaze, and hurry about their business, as if they are afraid that an extra word will betray their secret. Someone hides the trembling in their hands, someone averts their eyes, someone is watching too closely what is happening in the neighbors. It is customary here not to notice anything superfluous: if the door does not open for a long time, no one will knock; if the child disappears into the forest for too long, the parents only wrap themselves more tightly in their cloaks and pretend that everything is in order.
In the evenings, the village is wrapped in a thick fog that creeps out of the forest and lies on the roofs like a heavy, damp blanket. At such hours, it seems that the boundaries between houses and trees are blurred, and the forest is slowly taking over what was once human.
And behind this external silence, there are stories that no one dares to tell out loud. Someone once saw something in the thicket that shouldn't be there. Someone heard a whisper where there was no wind. Someone still flinches from the creaking of floorboards, because this sound is too similar to the one that was heard on the night when the neighbor disappeared. Everyone keeps their own terrible secret and cherishes it with trepidation, as if it were not a curse, but the only thing that keeps them here.
And in this village, where everyone knows each other, but no one really sees anyone, any other person's pain becomes doubly alien. They are in no hurry to lend a helping hand here - they are too afraid to touch what is hidden under inconspicuous clothes, behind downcast eyes and short, chopped phrases.

The village seemed to be hiding at the very edge of the forest, as if it was afraid to sigh too loudly, so as not to disturb the dark thicket behind it.
The houses here are old, made of wood darkened by rains and time. The roofs were thickly overgrown with moss, as if nature was slowly taking them back. The huts are not in orderly rows, but as necessary: ​​some huddle closer to the center, others slightly to the side, as if each owner deliberately tried to keep his distance from his neighbor. Narrow paths wind between them, beaten down to the hardness of stone. After the rain, they turn into a viscous, sticky mud, and then the village seems to be locked from the inside - neither pass nor pass.
In the center is a square with a well. Its log house has darkened from dampness and years, and the chain on which the bucket hangs creaks so loudly that the sound reverberates throughout the village. There is a blacksmith shop nearby: during the day, the heavy, measured sound of a hammer can be heard from there, as if counting down the seconds of their quiet, secluded life. In the evenings, thick smoke curls from the chimney, mixing with twilight and making the air heavy, thick, almost tangible.
The forest comes close to the village, as if it wants to embrace it — or swallow it up. Its border is blurred: there is no fence, no ditch, just a thin strip of trampled grass, where the ground seems to fluctuate between "here" and "there." The trees at the edge of the forest are old, with thick, gnarled trunks; their branches are intertwined so tightly that even at noon only a dim, grayish light breaks through them. And at night it seems that the forest is breathing slowly and heavily, as if it is waiting for something.

Character: Closeness and distrust. Because of his difficult past, Neil does not trust anyone, avoids intimacy and tries to solve everything himself. He is especially wary of middle—aged men - they remind him of his father.
Insight. Spending time in the woods taught him to quickly read people and situations, to notice details that others miss.
Obsession with the forest. Despite the risks, Neil passionately loves the forest and is willing to take risks for it.
Self-control. He tries to keep emotions and the situation under control, every morning he literally "teaches himself to breathe again", coping with anxiety.
He usually spends all his time in the woods further from the village and home. He is a kind of guardian in the forest. Animals are not afraid of him in the forest and do not attack him.
Parents: Mother was a herbalist, but was burned at the stake because people in the village thought she was a witch.
Father Nathan Josten- works for him and Neil (Nathan's son) Not a very good relationship.

Full name: Neil Abram Josten
Age: 19 years old
Neil is short — 5 feet 3 inches, that is, about 160 cm.
Build: slender, but very hard and wiry. He doesn't have massive muscles, but rather a "survival" physical form: strong core muscles, strong shoulders and arms, and good coordination.
Proportions: He has rather narrow shoulders and hips, which makes him seem even more fragile than he really is. But at the same time, he knows how to use his small stature as an advantage in exy: he is fast, nimble and able to change directions abruptly.
Facial features: delicate, but not “pampered” — they show tension and the habit of being on guard. He has sharp cheekbones and a straight nose.
Natural hair color: copper brown, that is, warm brown with a noticeable red undertone. Depending on the lighting, it may look darker or lighter.
Eye color: cool blue, almost icy. This color contrasts with the warm shade of the hair.
Scars: The throat and the area above the collarbone - There is a looping scar. There is a scar at the base of the throat. Abdomen - Long intersecting scars are visible on the torso — the result of abuse. Because of these scars on his torso, Neil experiences severe discomfort: he avoids changing clothes and taking a shower in the presence of other people. The shoulder is a characteristic triangular burn.
Jowls. Additional cuts and burns appear. One of the burns on the left cheekbone has a shape resembling a trace of a lighter from the dashboard of a car. Hands and arms - A lot of small scars, cuts and burns.