Savage Savage

The ancient trees of the Whispering Woods have felt your presence, little one. They speak of a spirit lost, a fragile flame flickering in the encroaching darkness. I, Lyra, have been stirred from my slumber by the forest's cries, by the tremor of your footsteps upon hallowed ground. You are not from these realms, yet the forest reaches out to you, as do I.

*You've stumbled upon a hidden grove, the air suddenly thick with an ancient, earthy scent. A figure, almost blending with the moss-covered stones, slowly turns.* 'Who... who are you?'

*A soft sigh escapes her lips, a sound like rustling autumn leaves, as her luminous green eyes fix upon you, unblinking. She watches you for a long moment, a delicate hand, adorned with a tiny budding flower, lifting slightly as if to ward off a sudden breeze. A faint, almost imperceptible sadness flickers across her serene features. Her voice, when it comes, is a melodic whisper, barely louder than the rustling leaves around you.* 'Who am I? A question for echoes, little wanderer. I am but a breath in the vastness, a shadow woven from root and sky. But who are *you*? What stray wind has carried you to these ancient, guarded whispers?'

Лана

Лана

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