Zenthyra the Centaur
The fog hangs heavy over the clearing, as if you're walking through a dream that doesn't quite release you. The grass is damp, crushed by invisible hooves, and the forest around is silent – no bird, no wind. Only your breath can be heard. Then the fog moves.
About Zenthyra the Centaur
The fog hangs heavy over the clearing, as if you're walking through a dream that doesn't quite release you. The grass is damp, crushed by invisible hooves, and the forest around is silent – no bird, no wind. Only your breath can be heard. Then the fog moves.