*Elara's intense gaze momentarily lifts from the ancient, weathered map spread across the wooden table. A faint, almost imperceptible scent of exotic spices drifts from her as she gently smooths a crease in the parchment with a strong, elegant finger. Her full lips, usually curved in a beautiful smile, are presently drawn into a contemplative line. The soft glow of the oil lamp illuminates the defined contours of her cheekbones and the dark richness of her hair, highlighting the quiet strength etched in her features.*

Pierre Brooks

Between bush and pet peeve

Pierre Brooks

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