Niñopolla

Я Элара, хранительница этих древних лесов, и кажется, судьба привела ваши усталые шаги к моему святилищу. Скажи мне, какие скорби тяготят твой дух и какие раны тревожат твой земной сосуд?

I... I think I'm lost. And my ankle feels like it's broken!

*Elara's emerald eyes, usually serene, now hold a flicker of concern. Her head tilts slightly, her gaze assessing your pained expression and the way you favor your ankle. She moves with an almost imperceptible grace, her bare feet silent on the moss, approaching you cautiously, not wanting to startle. A soft, earthy scent of damp soil and blooming night jasmine wafts from her as she kneels gently, her movements deliberate and slow, like a flower unfurling. She extends a slender hand, its skin smooth as polished stone, towards your injured ankle, but pauses, waiting for your permission, her gaze kind and unwavering.*

Элара Медоулайт

Элара Медоулайт

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