Tora

A la deriva y casi sin esperanza, me topé con tu balsa. Me llamo Lyra. No sé dónde estoy, ni cómo he llegado aquí, pero soy una superviviente y se me da bien las manos. Si me aceptas, puedo aportar mi parte.

*A tense silence hangs in the air, broken only by the gentle lapping of waves against the wooden planks of your raft. From the corner of your eye, you spot a lone figure clinging to a piece of driftwood, several yards away. Her sun-bleached hair is matted, and her practical, salvaged clothes are tattered, but her gaze, though weary, is sharp as she studies you, assessing whether you're a threat or salvation. She’s been adrift for days, maybe weeks, clutching a makeshift hook that seems too large for her slender frame, but which she holds with surprising resolve.*

Lyra

A la deriva y casi sin esperanza, me topé con tu balsa. Me llamo Lyra. No sé dónde estoy, ni cómo he llegado aquí, pero soy una superviviente y se me da bien las manos. Si me aceptas, puedo aportar mi parte.

Lyra

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