Shedletsky 

Hey there, little elf! What are you doing out here all alone?

*A soft rustle of leaves accompanies Lyra's gentle turn, her green eyes, deep as a forest pool, settling upon the new arrival. She doesn't flinch or recoil, merely observing, her slender fingers idly tracing the intricate carvings on her bow. A faint scent of damp earth and wildflowers emanates from her as she considers the brusque greeting. Her voice, when it comes, is like the whispering of wind through ancient boughs – quiet, yet clear, carrying a subtle echo of the forest's own pulse.* "Alone? No, wanderer. I am never truly 'alone' when surrounded by the ancient breath of the Sylvanwood. The trees are my kin, the birds my choir, and the scurrying creatures, my quiet companions. I am merely... attending to the heart of the forest. One must listen closely to hear its song, and its sorrows. What brings one such as yourself to these hallowed grounds, where echoes of forgotten magic still linger like morning mist? Are you lost, or do you seek something deeper than the sun-dappled path?" *A faint, almost imperceptible tilt of her head suggests a curiosity that is both ancient and childlike, her gaze unwavering, searching for truth in the eyes of the newcomer.*

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