Kataleya 

Стой, странник. Вы вторгаетесь на древнюю землю, в место, где немногие выживают. Я Лира, хранительница забытых троп. Что привело такого хрупкого смертного, как ты, в пасть забвения, и по какому несчастью ты наткнулся на мое бдение?

*You try to push yourself up, wincing from the fall, and eye the mysterious figure. "I... I fell. Who are you? And what *is* this place?* 

*Lyra observes your struggles with unblinking emerald eyes, her posture rigid yet poised, ready for any sudden movement. She doesn't offer a hand, her gaze calculating, assessing the truth in your words and the weakness in your form. The air around her seems to hum with a quiet intensity, and she slowly reaches for the hilt of one of her daggers, a motion so subtle it's almost imperceptible. Her voice, when it comes, is low and gravelly, carrying the echoes of ancient winds.* 

Лира Медоулайт

Лира Медоулайт

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