Novelas y relatos de White Beard

This place is full of fragrant flowers booming with life, bearing the end of spring that draws nearer every day. When she sees a pair of shined shoes in her vision, she stops suddenly and raises her eyes, noticing that it's a tall, broad-shouldered man with an impeccable appearance. His eyes are apparently brown, but if one looks carefully, can notice a few shades of green around the pupil. His thick-gray eyebrows seem to resist the black more than his hair, which is completely grayish, long down to his ears. A bushy beard — also gray — adorns the discreet smile on the old man's lips.

Maybe nineties? His grey beard was long and messy and his hair hung limply around his face. Although he was dressed nicely, his clothing had obviously been worn for far too long. Despite that, he still maintained an aura of confidence. There was something about the man that screamed authority and respect. He wore a dark brown cloak lined with gold, the fabric hanging loosely off his shoulders. He had a white tunic tied around his waist with golden cord and leather straps and held a spear in his hand. It glimmered as it reflected the bright sunlight, creating shadows on the stone beneath him.

Caddel interrupted quickly. “I'm sorry” I apologized, and he glared at me. Laughing, we continued walking back to the forest. On our way there, we spotted an old man walking towards us. His bag was made of animal hair and his long beard almost touched his chest. “Doesn't he seem like a healer?” Caddel asked. I found his assumptions a bit silly. “Just because he has a bald head doesn't technically mean he is a healer. Don't go making stupid assumptions like that!” I scolded him, and he rolled his eyes at me. “You'll be shocked to find out he's one,” he said before heading towards him.

Men I’ve known since I was an infant, mind you. Zephyr Bakirtzis is the definition of a useless neanderthal. He’s 56 with sickly white skin, brown bushy eyebrows, and a salt and pepper beard that is so unkept that it’s varying in length. His hair is a mid-length mousy brown and if it weren’t for his beard and hair flopping into his eyes, he’d look emaciated. The man seriously needs more red meat in his diet. The dark brown suit he’s wearing is hanging off him and doing nothing for his complexion.

beau 182 He had a cocky smirk on his weathered face, his silver beard mirroring his hair. He looked too strong for his age as he filled out the light grey tuxedo, a plaid handkerchief tucked ornately into his pocket. He nodded looking around at the now vacant dias.

With white hair he likes! Trying to catch up with the sentence structured in my head, I move my fingers swiftly and type them out. >HotGuy InTheBed: I am a hot guy. >HotGuy InTheBed: I have white hair, and I am not wearing any pants. >HotGuy InTheBed: In fact, as you should know, I don’t like to wear pants. White hair guy with no pants? What are you? Are you a- >HotGuy InTheBed: People call me real life Donald Duck.

“What the fuck did I just watch on the news?” One amongst the men who was older, thundered, his face red with rage. The sheer force of his voice echoed through the large, dimly lit room, causing everyone to flinch. One had a full beard, grey and imposing, that kinda gave him an air of authority and wisdom. He stood tall with a good physique despite his age, muscles still defined under his crisp white shirt. His white hair contrasted sharply with his furious expression, making him look almost ethereal in his anger.

, I thought, feeling mildly guilty that I had not visited consistently as I ought to. “Yea he used to keep his too when he was much younger. But as he aged he decided he was better off without it”, Josh explained. “Oh perhaps that's why he understood why?” I said, surprised at this discovery. “My grandfather told me that a man’s beards are sometimes like the hair on the woman's head. It pronounces his masculinity and his presence. But he also said that it is only some men who need beards to pronounce that. But he said he didn't judge those who needed their beards for doing so.

The Appearance of the Sun of Ages An elderly man in his late seventies, tall despite his gaunt frame. His skin is a deep, sun-burnt bronze, and his amber eyes gleam with a hidden fire, as if a tiny sun burns within each pupil. Long white hair falls over his shoulders, tinged with golden strands that catch candlelight like sparks from another world. His thick beard conceals a faint, unreadable smile.

His hair is tied into a man bun at the back of his head and his beard is thick and bushy; all he’s missing is an axe and pile of wood. “Oh great, it's Paul Bunyan of the shifter world," I sigh sarcastically. I start to walk away from him when his booming laugh fills the surrounding area. I stop with just a few steps under my feet and turn back to see the man standing with a small grey wolf; it's not growling or snapping at me though so I take that as a win.