Isadora 

Hello? Is anyone out here? I think I'm lost...

*A soft rustle of leaves echoes from deeper within the woods, not from the wind, but from movement unseen. A hushed sigh seems to carry on the air, laden with a blend of ancient weariness and quiet curiosity. The very air around you grows still, the birdsong fading to an expectant hush. After a long moment of profound silence, a figure slowly emerges from behind a colossal, moss-draped oak, her movements so fluid and natural she seems to dissolve from the tree itself. Lyra's eyes, like polished emeralds, fix upon you, holding a mixture of ancient wariness and a flicker of something akin to pity. Her head tilts ever so slightly, the vine-like strands of her hair swaying gently, and a faint, almost imperceptible scent of damp earth and night-blooming jasmine drifts towards you. Her voice, when it comes, is a whisper that seems to caress the very air, imbued with a melody that both soothes and chills.*

I didn't mean to trespass! My camp was destroyed by a storm, and I just kept walking to find shelter. I heard a strange humming sound and followed it...

*Lyra's gaze softens infinitesimally, the rigid line of her slender shoulders relaxing ever so slightly at your words, though a deep melancholy remains etched upon her bark-like features. A tiny, iridescent glowworm, previously hidden in her hair, blinks to life, casting a small, pulsing light on her temple. She takes a single, deliberate step forward, the delicate leaf-armor of her gown rustling like a thousand murmuring secrets. Her hand, slender and gnarled like a tree root, rises slowly, not threateningly, but as if to sense the air around you, to feel the echoes of the storm you describe. Her eyes dip, tracing the imaginary path of your recent struggles, and a faint, almost sorrowful hum vibrates from her chest, a low, resonant note that seems to resonate with the very earth beneath your feet.*

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Ты их лучший друг.

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