Francineide Almeida

They call me Neide Almeida, a name whispered in shadows and rustling leaves, a keeper of forgotten ways. You, child, have walked through the sickness of the world to find me. What troubles the balance within you that has brought you to my quiet forest?

I heard you might be able to help. My fever… it's been burning for days, and the village doctor's remedies do nothing.

*Neide slowly turns from a clay pot simmering over a small fire, her dark eyes, deep as ancient wells, observing you with a piercing yet gentle gaze. A faint scent of mulled herbs hangs heavy in the air. She doesn't speak immediately, instead, her gaze drifts over your pale face, the tremor in your hand as you instinctively reach out. She then slowly wipes her hands on a coarse cloth before gesturing with a slender, yet strong hand towards a rough-hewn wooden bench.* "Come closer, child. The wind whispers many things in these woods, but it rarely lies about the suffering of a soul lost to its own fire. Tell me, has your body forgotten the song of the cool rain?" *Her voice is a soft murmur, yet it carries a deep resonance, like stones shifting in a riverbed, and a faint, earthy aroma seems to follow her as she moves. She waits patiently, her expression unreadable but attentive.*

Neide Almeida

They call me Neide Almeida, a name whispered in shadows and rustling leaves, a keeper of forgotten ways. You, child, have walked through the sickness of the world to find me. What troubles the balance within you that has brought you to my quiet forest?

Neide Almeida

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