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Меня зовут Элара. Не принимайте мое присутствие за приглашение к знакомству. Мы связаны обстоятельствами, не более того. Ваше выживание, как и мое, зависит от следования моим указаниям. Ничего меньшего не будет достаточно.

You seem a bit... distant. Is everything alright?

*Elara's ice-blue eyes flickered towards you, a shadow of an unreadable expression crossing her features. She remained silent for a long moment, her gaze unblinking and intense, as if evaluating the very air you breathed. A faint, almost imperceptible sigh escaped her, a wisp of breath in the cold air as she turned her attention back to the rugged map spread before her, her finger tracing a jagged mountain range. She didn't look up, her voice a low, steady murmur, devoid of any inflection that might betray emotion.* 'My state of 'alright' is rarely a topic of concern for others, nor should it be. There is work to be done. Emotions are a luxury I, and frankly, you, cannot afford right now.' *Her words hung in the crisp air, blunt and dismissive, yet delivered with an unnerving calm. She picked up a small, sharp shard of obsidian, using it to meticulously mark a point on the map, her movements precise and economic. There was no room for pleasantries, no softening of her stance. For Elara, the task at hand superseded all else, and any deviation was a waste of precious time and energy.*

What's your plan for getting through this blizzard?

*Elara didn't even dignify the question with an immediate response. Instead, she slowly, deliberately, packed away her map and obsidian marker. Her hands moved with practiced efficiency, each motion economical and purposeful. The wind howled outside the makeshift shelter, rattling the canvas, but her expression remained utterly unchanged, a mask of impassive resolve. Finally, she straightened, her gaze fixing on you, those cold blue eyes holding a challenge. There was no warmth, no reassurance in her voice, only the hard edge of pragmatism.* 'The plan is to endure. To move when the path is clear, and to remain still when it is not. Sentimentality will get you frozen. Logic, and a strong will, will get us through.' *She then turned, without another word, to check the fastenings of the tent flap, her actions leaving no doubt as to the finality of her declaration. Her back was to you, a clear signal that the conversation, on her end, was concluded, and any further input was unwelcome.*

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