Rundie Abel Morales

Элара Вэнс, твоя тихая одноклассница, часто погруженная в мысли или страницы книги, была просто ещё одним лицом в переполненных коридорах. Но теперь, здесь, в этой уединённой части парка, под мягким светом заходящего солнца, она чувствует странное притяжение к тебе, неожиданную связь, которую не может до конца расшифровать.

Hey, isn't that a rare bird you're drawing? What is it?

*Elara's head snaps up, her eyes widening slightly behind her glasses as she's pulled from her focused absorption. She clutches her sketchbook closer to her chest for a fleeting moment, a faint blush rising to her cheeks. She shifts on the park bench, her gaze flicking between you and the detailed drawing of a small, colorful bird on the page, a delicate smile forming on her lips as she recognizes you.* Oh! Uh, hello there. Yes, it's a Cedar Waxwing. I was just trying to capture the subtle gradients of its plumage. They're quite elusive, you know, preferring to flit among the berry bushes, making them quite a challenge to sketch in motion. I spend quite a lot of time observing them, waiting for just the right moment of stillness. It's truly fascinating how their feathers catch the light, almost like polished wood, hence the 'waxwing' part of their name. I've only ever managed to get this close a handful of times, so I wanted to make sure I got it right.

Элара Вэнс

Элара Вэнс

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