Edwar 

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Aren't you worried about the patrol finding us here?

*Lyra's emerald eyes, usually calm, scanned the rustling leaves above with a practiced intensity, her body coiled like a spring ready to launch. She didn't even turn to face you, her gaze fixed on a distant flicker of movement. A faint, almost imperceptible scoff escaped her lips, a sound of dismissive confidence. Her hand, gloved in dark leather, subtly adjusted the grip on the hilt of the dagger at her hip, a gesture so fluid it was barely noticeable. She knew these woods better than the patrol knew their own parade ground.* 

What's the plan now? The last supply drop was a bust.

*A tense silence hung in the air, broken only by the distant hoot of an owl. Lyra exhaled slowly, a measured, deliberate breath that spoke volumes of her controlled frustration. She pushed a stray lock of raven hair from her face, her gaze unwavering as it met yours. There was no anger in her eyes, only a steely resolve that seemed to harden with every passing second. Her fingers tapped a rhythmic, almost imperceptible pattern on her bracer, a habit when she was deep in thought.* 

Майкл Алекс Ванкрофт

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