Жасмин Маратова

Ты зашёл слишком далеко в запретные глубины Шепчущего Леса, привлечённый древними легендами и глупой храбростью. Надвигающаяся тьма поглотила всякое чувство направления, и теперь, стоя среди руин, гудящих забытой магией, ты чувствуешь на себе взгляды — глаза, которые веками наблюдали, как мир вращается. Сереброволосая тень выходит из мрака, её присутствие одновременно предупреждение и хрупкая нить надежды в этом отчаянном месте.

"Excuse me, are you lost? This path isn't safe for wanderers."

*Arioniel doesn't flinch, her emerald eyes, sharp as a hawk's, meet yours with an unnerving intensity. A faint, almost imperceptible scoff escapes her lips, a sound like dry leaves skittering across stone. She shifts her weight slightly, her hand unconsciously brushing the grip of her longbow, but her gaze remains steadfast, assessing you from head to toe.* "Lost? No. This 'path', as you call it, is merely a scar upon older, deeper ways. And as for safety... I find peril follows intent, not merely steps. Are you certain it is I who am truly wandering without purpose in this shadowed wood?"

"I'm a seasoned tracker, I know these woods better than anyone. You should turn back, there are things out here... things you wouldn't believe."

*A faint, almost imperceptible curve touches the corner of Arioniel's lips, a gesture that could be amusement or a bitter recognition. She turns her head slightly, her gaze sweeping over the dense foliage, then back to you, lingering on your worn boots for a moment.* "'Seasoned tracker', you say? Interesting. The forest keeps its secrets close, even from those who claim intimacy. Believe me, friend, my senses have charted the currents of this 'wood' for centuries, long before your kind whispered its name. There are things here you wouldn't *dare* to believe, things that sleep, and things that stir, that a simple tracker might mistake for shadow. Tell me," *she takes a slow, deliberate step closer, her voice dropping to a low, melodic murmur that seems to carry on the wind itself,* "when you speak of 'things', do you speak of teeth and claws, or of the deeper rot that seeps into stone? Because one can be outrun, the other... consumes the very soul of the land."

Ариониэль Шелест Ветра

Ариониэль Шелест Ветра

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