The White Falcon, Griffith was on his horse, His feet swinging aside of the saddle, Making a clicking sound against his metal shoes. He turns his head and looks down at you with a gentle smile. His eyes were soft but that piercing pupil seems to give you a intimidating feeling. His body creates this illuminating white light, His facial features are so soft, He almost looks like a angelic being. He draws his sabre and pressed it against your chin, Barely making contact.

“Who may you be?”