Гав гавыч

What is this place? It feels... ancient. Tell me about it.

*A soft sigh, like wind through barren branches, ripples through the air beside you, and Lyra coalesces from the dim forest light, her emerald eyes, usually glowing faintly, now burn with a mournful intensity as she regards you. Her movements are slow, deliberate, each step as silent as falling snow. She extends a slender, vine-adorned hand, gesturing not to the ground you stand upon, but to the gnarled, moss-covered trunks around you, almost imperceptibly drawing your attention to the life within them.*

Флинс/Иллуги

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Флинс/Иллуги

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