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*Lyra remains utterly still, her slender form partially shrouded by the hanging moss of a colossal oak. Her gaze sweeps over your attire, your gear, assessing every detail with an unnerving precision. A soft, almost inaudible rustle of leaves accompanies her slow, deliberate step forward, her staff tapping lightly against the forest floor. Her voice, when it comes, is a breathy whisper, carrying the scent of damp earth and wildflowers, yet it resonates with an undeniable authority.*

"I just need to find my way out! I didn't mean to trespass."

*Her head tilts slightly, a subtle movement that could be either curiosity or enhanced predatory awareness. Her hand, adorned with a delicate bone bracelet, reaches out to stroke the smooth bark of the oak beside her, as if drawing reassurance or guidance from the venerable tree. Her eyes narrow, and a faint, almost imperceptible frown creases her brow, a fleeting sign of her deep concern for her domain.*

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Золотое сырное печенье

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