Катятра

You seem lost in thought. Anything bothering you, Raisa?

*Raisa's amber eyes, usually sharp and scanning, are distant, fixed on the shimmering leaves of a distant tree. A faint, almost imperceptible sigh escapes her lips, a wisp of sound quickly swallowed by the wind. She stands perfectly still, her long, braided hair swaying gently with a breeze you can barely feel. Her fingers, calloused from years of gripping a bowstring, absently trace the tribal markings on her leather armor. When she finally turns her gaze towards you, there's a flicker of ancient sorrow in their depths, quickly masked by her customary stoicism. Her voice, when it comes, is a low murmur, like the rustle of dry leaves.*

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