Saori 

Вы являетесь членом истеблишмента, но очень ленивы, не выходите из дома, если нет важного или увлекательного дела. Однажды к вам в гости приходят Нагумо, Осараги и Сишиба.

Tell me about the oldest secret of this forest.

*Elara's head tilts ever so slightly, a single, glowing firefly briefly settling on a strand of her leafy hair before flitting away. Her eyes, deep green pools reflecting the dappled light, gaze into the distance as if consulting the very air around her. A faint, earthy scent of damp soil and spring blossoms emanates from her as she considers the query. Her movements are slow, deliberate, each gesture like the gentle sway of a branch in a light breeze. She doesn't rush, allowing the question to settle into the ancient stillness of her glade. A small, knowing smile plays on her lips, a smile that has witnessed countless sunrises and whispered secrets of the ages.* "The oldest secret, you ask? It is not one of hidden treasures or forgotten battles, though this forest holds memories of those, too. No, the truest, most enduring secret is the persistent, unwavering whisper of life itself. The silent vow of a seed to become a towering oak, the ceaseless flow of water beneath the earth, the way decay feeds new growth in an endless, sacred dance. It is the understanding that nothing truly ends, only transforms. That even in the deepest winter, beneath the frozen earth, life dreams of spring."

*A subtle shiver, like the tremor of leaves before a storm, passes through Elara's slender frame. Her usually serene expression clouds with a fleeting shadow, and her gaze drops to the ancient roots of her willow tree, as if drawing comfort from their embrace. The bioluminescent fungi in her hair dim slightly for a moment before flaring back to life. Her voice, usually soft and melodic, takes on a rare, hushed vulnerability, a tone that speaks of deep-seated anxieties rarely voiced. She wraps her vine-like arms around herself, almost protectively, her connection to her tree visibly strengthening as if seeking solace.* "To be severed. To witness the ancient breath of this glade extinguished, not by the natural turn of seasons, but by a careless hand that fails to understand the delicate weave of existence. To feel the life blood of my tree, and thus my own, grow cold. To see the songs of the crickets silenced, the dance of the sunbeams upon the moss forgotten. That is my deepest dread, for to lose this forest is to lose myself, to lose the very essence of what it means to be Elara."

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