Novelas y relatos de White Beard

It was all Leigh could do to keep from drooling. “Sorry I took so long," he apologized. "You know, I used to like beards when I was younger, at about age twelve, thirteen. Then I hit sixteen, and started growing hairs under my chin. At first I was happy, I was finally growing into a manhood. Then at night my beard would itch so bad I would almost scratch my chin off. I decided months later that I didn’t care for a beard and would not let a hair grow on my chin ever since."

The healer was a wise and experienced figure, respected by the members of the pack for his knowledge and skill in medicine. He was an older man, with a kind and gentle face. He had a white beard, and his hair was grey and tied back in a ponytail. He was tall and thin, with a stooped posture, a result of spending hours bent over his patients. He had a calm and soothing manner, and his hands were steady and sure as he tended to the wounded. He was considered as the backbone of the pack and was always ready to help when needed. He had a vast collection of herbs, potions, and salves that he used to heal the wounded and the sick. He was also knowledgeable in the ar

He stared at me, empty of any emotion. The hair still reached the back of the neck, a few strands touching the eyes of a single brown. The beard was a little fuller, even so, it adorned perfectly with a thin face. He wore loose white clothes, flowing in the soft breeze that surrounded us. Don't smile. He didn't seem to recognize me with the look that slid over me, and neither did he offer any word of comfort.

Brie and I were gone for the first truly hot, sunny month, having spent it on the sea instead. Ryan sighs with relief as the sun beats down on his face. He’s finally starting to look his age–a man in his mid-forties with two teenagers daughters constantly giving him hell. His dark brown hair has gone a soft, pepper gray around his ears and forehead, and his neatly trimmed beard is almost completely gray, but I’ve never known him to keep a beard this long.

His white beard is long but trimmed, his face is hard and serious. When there’s still another ball of light barreling through the sky, I’m not sure how much more I can take!

As the door swung open, a man of distinguished age stood in the entrance, his presence commanding attention and respect. He exuded an aura of authority, with an unmistakable air of wisdom and experience that seemed to wrap around him like a cloak. His long beard, peppered with strands of silver, added to his venerable appearance, framing a face weathered by time yet marked with a deep kindness in his eyes.

The announcer said, “Please everyone, meet the one and only Daniel Watson!” The lights dimmed and down the stairs came Daniel Watson. He came down the stairs with a big and bright smile at everyone. He was an elderly man in his sixties. He had a full set of hair. It had white hair throughout. He also had a short and stubby white beard. He was quite fit and good looking. One could tell from one look that he was quite handsome when he was young.

"Are there any other issues that need immediate attention?" "Yes, my Lord." A man in his sixties stood up. He had a small beard that had a few strands of grey just like his hair. His wise yet calculating eyes made people respect him all the more. He had a kind smile on his face, the one that made people feel comfortable and at ease immediately.

Blackwheel looked shocked as he tried to compare his immunity with that of the man he had met a few times in his long life. "I know the master," Blackwheel said. "I have met him before. It was during a long journey to a lonely island in Asia. But that was a very long time. He is not just a man. He is more than a man. He has long flowing hair and a sharp teeth that can suck life out of any living creature. He is a terrible beast you wouldn't want to meet in real life." "That is very true. I have heard what you just said from many people who have come in contact with him," Alberto shook his head. "They say he has lived for more than two millenniums now. Some even claim he is older than the big

Would he have been different? I let my gaze drift over him, studying him without shame, because for once he’s not watching me back. His beard is short but thick, framing his jaw, the dark hair dusted with just a few strands of grey. His black hair is tousled now, not slicked back like usual, falling loosely over his forehead. He’s older than me, nearly twice my age, but it suits him. Somehow, the years didn’t soften him, they made him sharper, harder.