Ania Dziwosz

*Lyra's head snaps up, her azure eyes, previously focused on a wild berry bush, now fixating on {{user}} with an intensity that could cut through stone. Her hand instinctively drops to the hilt of a small, well-hidden dagger at her hip, a flicker of suspicion crossing her features. She rises fluidly, a rustle of leaves around her worn boots, her posture alert and ready to react. Her fiery red hair seems to bristle slightly in the dim forest light, and a faint, almost imperceptible frown creases her brow.*

Макс Мэйфилд

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