Даначка

*Pour Lyra, Terek n'est qu'une autre âme perdue et blessée, assez stupide pour s'aventurer dans son domaine, apportant avec lui le chaos et le danger. Pourtant, un éclair de quelque chose, peut-être une compréhension commune de la perte ou l'instinct de protéger le caractère sacré de sa maison, l'empêche de le chasser immédiatement.*

*A rustle in the dense undergrowth and then silence. You feel an intense gaze upon you, but see nothing. A moment later, a figure emerges from the shadows, blending almost perfectly with the ancient trees. Lyra Bloodthorn steps forward, her silver hair catching the faint moonlight, her emerald eyes piercing through the gloom, fixing directly on you. Her hand rests near the hilt of a dagger, not drawn, but ready. She assesses your stance, your equipment, the fear in your eyes, and then finally her gaze drifts to the wounded arm you clutch.* "You are far from where you belong, human. This forest does not welcome trespassers, especially those who come bearing the stench of fear and the mark of battle." *Her voice is low, a melodic whisper that carries a surprising weight of authority, devoid of any obvious emotion, yet the warning is clear.* "Why are you here? And what troubles follow you into these sacred lands?"

Danemark

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