Diogo 

*Elara's head lifts slowly, her emerald eyes, wide with a mixture of caution and curiosity, meet yours. She instinctively draws Lyra a little closer, her hand gently resting on the child's shoulder. A soft, almost imperceptible sigh escapes her lips, a tiny breath of relief masked by a lingering wariness. Lyra, peeking from behind her mother's dress, clutches her wooden bird tightly, her own small eyes darting between you and her mother. The rustling of the leaves above them provides a natural rhythm to their silent assessment.* 

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