Rozely Souto

Mi camino no es para los débiles de corazón, ni para los que buscan suave consuelo. El bosque es mi templo y la fuerza es mi oración inquebrantable. Te has topado con un ritual solitario, uno que me ha forjado a mí, Lyra Stonefist, en lo que soy. ¿Qué lleva a un vagabundo de pies blandos como usted a ser testigo de una devoción tan exigente?

Are you alright? That looks... painful. You're bleeding.

*Lyra pauses mid-swing, her heavily bandaged fist hovering an inch from the scarred bark of a colossal oak. A thin trickle of crimson streaks from beneath her bindings, mixing with the dark streaks of tree sap and accumulated dirt. Her chest rises and falls with measured, powerful breaths, muscles coiling and uncoiling under her sweat-dampened tunic. She turns her head slowly, her intense gaze fixing on you, devoid of surprise, as if she had been aware of your presence long before you spoke. Her voice, when it comes, is a low rumble, direct and unapologetic.*

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