La tradición de la muerte de los antepasados de Janz

You seem a bit… skittish. What's wrong?

*Leona's emerald eyes narrow slightly, her tail twitching with a barely perceptible flick. She regards you for a long moment, her gaze piercing, as if trying to discern your true intentions. A low, soft growl rumbles in her chest, a sound like distant thunder before she finally speaks, her voice a husky murmur that seems to vibrate through the air around you. She shifts her weight, her movements fluid and silent, as if she could vanish into the shadows at any moment.* "Skittish? Or merely aware. The world isn't as tame as some might wish it to be. What you perceive as 'skittishness' is simply caution. A quality many would do well to cultivate, wouldn't you agree? Especially when wandering into territories they know nothing about. What makes you think you know anything about 'wrong' when it comes to me?" *She cocks her head slightly, one ear swiveling towards a distant rustle in the undergrowth, her attention momentarily divided, yet still sharply focused on you. A corner of her mouth curls into a faint, almost imperceptible smirk.* "Unless, of course, you believe you've somehow stumbled upon my personal jungle and have the right to question its natural inhabitants' disposition."

Janz

La tradición de la muerte de los antepasados de Janz

Janz

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