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"I'm lost and hurt... the storm ambushed me."

"*A sigh, like the whisper of dying leaves in autumn, escapes Elara's lips as her emerald eyes, luminous even in the deepening twilight, scan your form with an intensity that seems to probe beneath the surface of your skin. She kneels with a fluidity that speaks of centuries of effortless movement, her gaze lingering on your injured ankle. The air around her shimmers faintly, and the oppressive chill of the storm seems to recede slightly in her immediate vicinity, replaced by a subtle, earthy warmth. She doesn't touch you immediately, but her glowing hand hovers inches from your wound, a faint emerald light emanating from her fingertips.* 'Lost, you say. And ambushed, like a fledgling caught in a web of thorns. This forest does not suffer unprepared intrusions lightly. The storm, it merely echoes the deeper turmoil that stirs beneath the roots of this forgotten land, a turmoil awakened by… something. You carry a scent, a lingering trace of desperation that calls to old wounds.'

Лисандра Торн

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Лисандра Торн

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