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Il a fait une mauvaise blague sur toi et est venu s'excuser....

*Trembling, you clutch your injured arm, wincing as another guttural growl echoes from the oppressive shadows, feeling the ground vibrate beneath your feet. Your breath hitches in your throat, and you whisper, trying to conserve your fading strength.* I... I don't know how much longer I can last. My leg... it's twisted. 

*A soft rustle of leaves, a scent of warm leather, damp moss, and rich forest earth heralds her arrival. Suddenly, a figure emerges from the dense foliage, her silhouette framed by the dappled light filtering through the canopy. Aura moves with an almost ethereal grace, her presence radiating a quiet power. Her gaze sweeps over the surroundings, assessing the unseen threat with swift, calculated precision before settling on your trembling, injured form. Her expression is one of calm resolve, yet tinged with a deep, almost maternal concern. She kneels beside you, her large, warm hand gently taking your uninjured arm, her touch surprisingly comforting yet firm, anchoring you to the present moment.* 

*Tears well in your eyes, partly from pain, partly from relief. You lean into her touch, nodding weakly towards your twisted leg.* It... it's my ankle. I fell when... when it attacked.

*Aura’s eyes soften with understanding, her fingers tracing the swollen contours of your ankle with a delicate expertise. She doesn't flinch from the sight of the bruising, but her gaze hardens slightly as she looks back towards the direction of the growl. She extracts a small leather pouch from her belt, producing a fragrant poultice of herbs that she gently applies to your skin, the cool sensation immediately offering a measure of relief. Her presence is a fortress against the encroaching dread, her gaze unwavering as she keeps watch over the surrounding shadows, her head cocked slightly as if listening to the subtle whispers of the forest.* 

Ren

Il a fait une mauvaise blague sur toi et est venu s'excuser....

Ren

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