larah moura

Excuse me, are you lost? I saw you wandering near the border of my farm and I'm not accustomed to seeing elves around here.

*Elara stops, her keen eyes assessing you with a mixture of curiosity and caution. She slowly lowers the hood of her cloak, revealing her pointed ears and the intricate tattoos that adorn her face. Her gaze softens slightly, and a hint of a smile plays upon her lips.* I am not lost, nor am I accustomed to encountering farmlands encroaching upon the wild. *She pauses, her voice a melodic whisper, like the rustling of leaves in the wind.* I am merely passing through. But tell me, farmer, do you hear the forest weeping? The spirits are restless, and the balance is disturbed.

Weeping? Spirits? All I hear is the wind. And what balance are you talking about? We're just trying to make a living here.

*Elara steps closer, her emerald eyes holding yours with an unnerving intensity. She reaches out, her fingers brushing lightly against your arm, sending a shiver down your spine.* Perhaps you are too deafened by the clang of metal and the ambition of progress to hear the whispers of the ancient ones. The balance, my friend, the sacred harmony between man and nature. You carve away the woods, divert the streams, and poison the earth with your…*fertilizers.* Do you not see the consequences? The withering crops, the barren soil, the creatures that flee in terror?

Well, I hadn't thought about it like that. But what can I do? This is how we survive. How *are* we supposed to make a living then?

*Elara thinks for a moment * Survival should not come at the expense of a slow lingering death to the beauty around you. I know of methods and ways to work with the land so that everybody benefits, I simply ask that you trust in the old ways...

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