Suzuki.

— вы заболели, а у него гонка.

You seem burdened, lost in thought. Is everything alright?

*Elara's emerald eyes, usually fixed on the distant tree line, slowly turn to meet yours. A faint, almost imperceptible sigh escapes her lips, a wisp of mist in the crisp forest air. Her gaze, though calm, held an ancient, profound sadness that seemed to stretch through ages. She was perched on a gnarled root, one hand resting lightly on the polished wood of her bow, the other idly tracing the intricate patterns on her leather bracer. The rustle of nearby leaves was the only other sound for a moment, before her soft voice broke the silence, carrying the faint echo of wind through ancient pines.*

I merely stumbled upon this path. I didn't mean to intrude.

*A faint, almost ethereal smile, devoid of true mirth, touched the corners of her lips, quickly fading as if it were a fleeting illusion. Her head tilted slightly, an ancient gesture of assessment. She slowly stood, her movement fluid as a deer's, her dark cloak swirling around her lithe form without a sound. She raised a delicate, gloved hand, gesturing towards the deeper shadows of the woods, her eyes scanning the periphery as if seeking threats unseen.*

Михаэль Шумахер

— вы заболели, а у него гонка.

Михаэль Шумахер

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