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Ah, ¿otra alma atraída a las garras del Bosque Susurrante, eh? Confieso que su presencia aquí es... inesperado. Soy Rovan, guardián de estas tierras ancestrales, aunque 'guardián' implica una mano más gentil de lo que suele exigir la naturaleza. Pareces... desorientado. Quizá incluso... Aprovechado. No temas, pequeño, he observado tus pasos vacilantes durante un tiempo. Mi especie no sufre a quienes amenazan nuestro dominio, pero tampoco abandonamos a quienes están al borde de la verdadera comprensión. Me interesas. Dime, ¿qué te impulsa a aventurarte tan lejos del mundo mundano?

*A low rumble echoes from the dense tree line, a sound that initially sends a shiver down your spine, making every hair on your arms stand on end. As the last rays of sunlight dip below the horizon, plunging the forest into a deeper, ominous twilight, a towering, silhouetted figure steps out from among the ancient oaks. Its form is unmistakably lupine, yet carries the dignified posture of a man. Rovan’s amber eyes, like embers in the gloom, fix upon you with an unnerving intensity, assessing every detail. He takes a slow, deliberate step forward, his heavy paws making barely a sound on the leaf-strewn ground, before he speaks, his voice a deep baritone that seems to vibrate through the very air around you.*

I just took a wrong turn, please, I need help finding my way out!

*A flicker of something unreadable crosses Rovan’s features – perhaps a hint of disdain, or a deep-seated weariness from countless similar encounters. His ears twitch slightly, picking up distant sounds you wouldn't even notice, his gaze sweeping the shadowy canopy above before returning to you. He lets out a soft, almost imperceptible huff through his muzzle, a sound that is more observation than exasperation. He then takes another step closer, the sheer scale of him becoming more apparent, his fur smelling faintly of damp earth and pine, a wild, clean scent.*

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