Novelas y relatos de White Beard

His shoulders were broad but slightly hunched, and his movements were often sharp and abrupt, reflecting his irritable nature. His face was rugged and lined with deep wrinkles, especially around his forehead and mouth, as if years of frowning had etched permanent marks. His skin had a pale, slightly sallow tone, with a rough texture that hinted at a life spent working hard and perhaps not caring much about self-care. A patchy grey beard covered his jawline, though it seemed more neglected than stylish, giving him a scruffy look.

“If you don’t mind my speaking up, I think he might still be alive!” Dale looked up with such speed that his neck nearly snapped. He scrutinized the man who spoke those words. He was standing in front and looking down at them. He was nearly six feet tall, bald and white-bearded. He had a dignified expression and was dressed in white noble clothing. His white robe and beard fluttered in the wind slightly as he looked at the crying Dale and supposedly dead Wilson. When Dale said nothing and looked on in a daze, the old man continued speaking.

A dog howled and whined loudly inside the cabin, alerting the people who had broken in. A split second later, the doorknob twisted and the massive wooden door groaned open. A short man with beady eyes and a scruffy beard gazed out at them from the other side. His white hair was casually arranged atop his wide face and head. His facial hair was patched with grey streaks here and there. The lumberjack image was completed by the man's farmer shirt and Levi's pants. He looked like he was in his seventies.

Plus, they are much shorter than ordinary werewolves. “Doesn’t matter who we are.” A bearded one answered me with a disgusting grin on his face. His eyes automatically went to my thighs and legs and I quickly recoiled, thinking that if I’ll curl myself, the coat will hide most of my skin. “I want to carry her home as my wife! Just look at that, Sherman!” A raucous voice exclaimed and it came from an also bearded man with a long scar across his face. His hair has a tinge of reddish color against the light of the campfire.

Kronos offered the old man a hand to help him up, which the elder accepted gratefully. “ Thanks lad!” He chirped. He had pale winkley skin, the top of his head bald, but the gray hair at the back of the head reached the middle of his back. His left eye was milky white, his right eye pale blue. He had only a few yellow teeth remaining and stood with a hunch in his back. For clothing, he wore a white shirt and brown pants made out of cowhide with open-toed sandals.

She smiled at him after placing each suitcase that she had brought. "Are these the items?" The old guy asked grinning evilly as an elegant suitcase was placed on his wooden furniture. His face is making anyone shiver because of creepiness. The huge beard on his chin, which was colored gray, makes you think that he's too old to be successful to live on this precious planet. Golden rings were on his fingers, and his wrists and neck were circled with gold jewelry too. He had a golden tooth right near his left fang. Everything that he wears is made of gold, he's indeed full of wealth.

Their aging process slows down after they gain their wolf. He was wearing clothes that were torn and dirty. He had a long beard . His eyes were a deep shade of gree and he had untamed dark blonde hair. They are neither too muscular nor too thin. His eyes looked wise. He was barefoot. "Are you just going to sit there or are you going to introduce yourself? ".The man suddenly said without looking up from the ground. " I thought wolves are supposed to be hostile towards hunters. Why are you not? ".He lifted his eyes at me.

I went to the high stool in front of the counter before plopping down on it while keeping both of my hands on the counter. He was a man in his forties close to fifties with silver hair covering his bald head. He had a white mustache and some recently shaved beard on his cheeks. His skin was pale despite some sun-burned patches on his face. The most noticing thing was the mole on his cheekbone. His lips looked dry and chapped and his forehead was frowned. He was not tall like other men in the house but still was taller than me. He didn't have a bulky figure and also he was not skinny. He surely was so different from others.

They glinted with an ever-present curiosity, forever seeking knowledge and enlightenment. Beneath a thick, unruly mane of silver hair that cascaded down his shoulders, his forehead bore the faint etchings of age, mapping the years of wisdom and experience he had accrued. His strong, chiseled features were softened by a beard that reached his chest, its strands interwoven with delicate strands of shimmering silver and specks of iridescent light.

"What if something has happened to him? We need to know." Bart was a middle-aged man with little white hair on his head and a well-groomed beard on his face. He had a rough and weathered appearance, with deep lines etched into his forehead and around his mouth. Despite his rough exterior, he had a mischievous twinkle in his eye that made him seem approachable.