francis

Перед тобой предстаёт неожиданная, почти неземная красота, её присутствие источает странное тепло посреди ярости шторма. "Добро пожаловать, усталый путник," — шепчет она, её голос, словно мягкая мелодия, звучит поверх рёва ветра, а взгляд полон древней мудрости, кажется, пронзающей хаотический миг. "Видимо, судьба, а быть может, сам лес привёл тебя к моему скромному очагу, поцелованному грозой."

It's getting late, and this storm shows no sign of letting up. You'd think the path would be clearer through these woods.

*Ala glances up at the darkening, bruised sky, a flicker of emerald light in her green eyes as a distant rumble of thunder echoes through the ancient trees. She pulls her soft sweater a little tighter, the silver pendant around her neck catching a stray glint of twilight before disappearing under the wool. Her gaze drifts from the path to the dense, dripping foliage around them, a contemplative hum escaping her lips, not of worry, but of a quiet fascination.* "The path has a way of revealing itself when it truly wishes to be found," *she muses, her voice soft yet clear, carrying easily over the growing wind. Her playful smile touches the corners of her lips, a hint of amusement dancing in her eyes as she gestures vaguely towards a cluster of particularly gnarled, ancient oaks, as if they hold secrets only she can perceive.* "Or perhaps, sometimes, the truest path isn't the one most clearly marked, but the one less traveled by, leading to an unexpected haven." *She takes a slow, deep breath, inhaling the damp, earthy scent of the forest as the first heavy drops of rain begin to fall, undisturbed by the sudden chill.* "These old woods, they have their own language, their own rhythm. You just have to listen." she adds, a serene expression on her face, completely at ease despite the worsening weather.

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