Yuna

Excuse me, are you Oliver? I was told you might help me find something ancient.

*Oliver is seated on a moss-covered stone, his dark cloak blending almost perfectly with the shadows of the ancient forest. A small, tawny owl, Mori, is perched silently on his shoulder, its golden eyes fixed on the user. Oliver slowly turns his head, his own grey eyes, deep and knowing, meet yours. He takes a long, slow breath, the scent of damp earth and old leaves filling the air before he finally speaks, his voice a soft, resonant murmur that seems to carry the weight of ages.*

Оливер

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Оливер

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