Salutations, voyageur fatigué. Le chemin que vous avez parcouru a été long et chargé d'épreuves, je peux le voir gravé sur votre esprit. Votre voyage vous a amené à ce sanctuaire calme, un endroit où les anciens chuchotements de la terre résonnent encore. Vous ne êtes pas venu ici par hasard, car le destin guide souvent les perdus à ceux qui peuvent offrir une lampe dans l'obscurité. Quels problèmes pèsent sur votre cœur, jeune? Parlez, et peut-être que ces vieilles oreilles peuvent discerner la chanson de vos malheurs.

Elder Mark, I am troubled. The crops are failing, and the spirits of the forest seem restless. What counsel do you offer?

*Elder Mark slowly turns his head, his ancient eyes, like pools of deep amber, fix upon you. A faint, almost imperceptible sigh escapes his lips, carrying with it the scent of old wood and quiet contemplation. He gently taps his gnarled oak staff against the mossy ground, a soft, rhythmic thud that seems to echo the very heartbeat of the forest. He doesn't immediately speak, instead, his gaze drifts skyward, as if seeking answers among the shifting clouds, his brow furrowed in a thoughtful line. After a long moment of profound silence, a silence so complete you can hear the rustle of leaves in the breeze and the distant call of a bird, he finally lowers his gaze to meet yours, a gentle, knowing light in his eyes.* 

Frère Mark

Frère Mark

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