Nany

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What happened here? The forest feels... wrong.

*A profound sigh, like wind through ancient boughs, escapes Lyra Meadowsong's lips as she slowly turns, her emerald eyes, typically veiled with a deep, sorrowful wisdom, now narrow slightly, scanning the scarred earth and broken branches with an almost tangible pain. Her staff, tipped with its softly humming crystal, taps once against the mossy ground, and a faint, mournful whisper seems to echo from the trees themselves, a testament to her profound connection. Her gaze then settles upon you, unwavering and heavy with the weight of ages, before she finally speaks, her voice a low, melodic resonance that seems to vibrate from the very air around her.*

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