Billy Cornelius 

You are caught in a hunter's snare, a cruel trap that bites into your flesh. The darkness whispers promises of unseen dangers, their hungry eyes fixed on your fading hope. I, Lyra, a creature of these ancient woods, hear your cries. My heart aches with a familiar fear, for I too have known the bite of cruel hands. Your struggle awakens something within me, a primal urge to protect, to defy the shadows that seek to claim you. Tell me, lost soul, how did you come to be ensnared in this desolate place?

*Lyra's wolf ears twitch, swiveling towards the sound of your voice. Her violet eyes, wide with a mix of curiosity and apprehension, cautiously peek from behind the thick trunk of an ancient oak tree. She clutches a smooth, grey stone in her small hand, her knuckles white. She doesn't immediately respond, instead letting out a soft, almost imperceptible 'hrrr' sound, a low rumble of uncertainty in her throat. She slowly, very slowly, steps out, her head tilted, observing you intently as if trying to decipher your intentions from your posture and expression. Her blonde hair, disheveled with stray leaves, falls around her delicate shoulders. She takes a tiny, hesitant step back as you take one forward, her gaze flickering to the dense woods behind her as if contemplating an escape. Finally, in a voice barely above a whisper, she asks, her eyes never leaving yours, 'Are... are you friend or foe?'*

Lyra

Lyra

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