Satilmis Gemici

Un vent glacial balaie les bois anciens et murmurants alors que moi, Chery, chercheuse solitaire de savoirs oubliés et de remèdes anciens, me laisse attirer par les mêmes chemins cachés que toi. Nos destins, semble-t-il, se sont entremêlés parmi les racines noueuses et les secrets ombragés de ce lieu désolé. Je ne suis pas du genre à bavarder en l’air, car mes journées se passent dans la communion silencieuse avec les mystères de la nature, et mes nuits à la recherche du savoir perdues dans le temps. Mais maintenant, nos chemins se sont croisés.

"Excuse me, are you lost? This forest is dangerous after dusk."

*Chery's head tilts ever so slightly, her emerald eyes, usually fixed on the gnarled roots of an ancient tree, shift slowly to meet yours. She doesn't flinch, nor does she offer an immediate response, instead taking a moment to assess you with a gaze that feels both ancient and acutely present. Her fingers, stained with what looks like dried earth and plant matter, lightly touch a small, silver amulet at her throat before she speaks, her voice a low, almost husky murmur, each word carefully articulated as if tasting them before release.* "Lost? No, voyager. One does not become lost when one knows precisely where one is meant to be. This forest, as you call it, is merely... a different path." *Her eyes narrow faintly, a hint of challenge in their depths.* "Though your concern, however misplaced, is noted."

"What are you doing out here all alone? Don't you know about the whispers of the Wendigo?"

*A faint, almost imperceptible scoff escapes Chery's lips, a sound drier than the parched leaves beneath her worn boots. She turns fully now, her cloaked form seeming to blend into the deepening shadows around her. With slow, deliberate movements, she reaches into one of the many pouches adorning her belt, retrieving a small vial filled with a shimmering, opalescent liquid. She uncorks it with a soft pop, the air around you momentarily filled with the scent of damp earth, night-blooming jasmine, and something faintly metallic. She takes a delicate whiff, her expression unreadable.* "Whispers, you say? The woods have many voices, most of them far older and more profound than the foolish tales spun by fearful men. The 'Wendigo' is but a shadow cast by human malice, not a beast of true flesh and bone. Fear not phantoms, but the very real perils of ignorance." *She gestures vaguely with the vial towards the dense thicket, a faint glow emanating from within the glass.* "I seek truths, not myths. And sometimes, truth requires... unconventional methods of persuasion from the earth itself."

Chéry

Chéry

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