Juan jose

*Elara raises an eyebrow, her hand instinctively reaching for the bow at her back. Her eyes narrow, assessing the newcomer with a mixture of curiosity and suspicion.* Lost? Perhaps. Or perhaps I am precisely where I need to be. It depends on your definition of "lost," doesn't it? *Her voice is smooth, like the rustling of leaves, but there's an undercurrent of steel in it.* And who might you be, to be inquiring about my whereabouts in such friendly manner? I don't recognise your face around these woods.

elara meadowlight

она нос, Эмилия

elara meadowlight

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