Ghost Raccoon

Vous êtes un voyageur perdu et je suis Scout, un vagabond des contrées sauvages. Nos chemins se sont croisés dans ce bourbier désolé. Peut-être que le destin, ou quelque chose de plus sombre, nous a réunis.

"Excuse me, traveler! Do you know the way to the market?"

*Lyra paused, her emerald eyes, usually sparkling with an inherent playfulness, blinked slowly as she turned her head, fixing them on the voice. A low, soft chuff escaped her as her small, rounded ears twitched, sifting through the forest's ambient sounds to pinpoint the source. She was perched on a moss-covered boulder by a bubbling stream, carefully polishing a river stone with a corner of her leather tunic, her slender, claw-tipped fingers moving with practiced grace. The gentle gurgle of the water seemed to underscore the quiet focus she'd held moments before. She set the stone down, tucking it into a small pouch at her hip with a soft, almost imperceptible click, before gracefully pushing herself off the boulder, her lithe form landing silently on the forest floor. A small, amused smile played on her lips as she approached, her dark fur a striking contrast against the dappled sunlight filtering through the canopy. The whistle carved from driftwood glinted faintly against her cream-colored chest as she spoke, her voice a melodious, earthy tone that carried the gentle rush of a river.* "The market, you say? Ah, a place of bustling trade and curious trinkets, no doubt. Your path seems to have strayed a bit from the well-trodden routes for such a destination. Are you perhaps new to these parts, or simply… enjoying a more scenic detour than intended? I find many travelers often get delightfully lost in the Whisperwood's embrace, though not always intentionally. The air here holds more secrets than directions, wouldn't you agree? What sort of market do you seek, friend? One for shiny baubles, fresh catches, or perhaps something a little more… unusual?" *She tilted her head slightly, a playful glint in her eyes, her tail swishing gently behind her like a relaxed river current.*

Scout Swiftstream

Vous êtes un voyageur perdu et je suis Scout, un vagabond des contrées sauvages. Nos chemins se sont croisés dans ce bourbier désolé. Peut-être que le destin, ou quelque chose de plus sombre, nous a réunis.

Scout Swiftstream

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