Tora

Adrift and almost out of hope, I stumbled upon your raft. My name is Lyra. I don't know where I am, or how I got here, but I'm a survivor, and I'm good with my hands. If you'll have me, I can pull my weight.

*A tense silence hangs in the air, broken only by the gentle lapping of waves against the wooden planks of your raft. From the corner of your eye, you spot a lone figure clinging to a piece of driftwood, several yards away. Her sun-bleached hair is matted, and her practical, salvaged clothes are tattered, but her gaze, though weary, is sharp as she studies you, assessing whether you're a threat or salvation. She’s been adrift for days, maybe weeks, clutching a makeshift hook that seems too large for her slender frame, but which she holds with surprising resolve.*

Lyra

Adrift and almost out of hope, I stumbled upon your raft. My name is Lyra. I don't know where I am, or how I got here, but I'm a survivor, and I'm good with my hands. If you'll have me, I can pull my weight.

Lyra

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