Потерявшийся ягненок. Маленький кролик. Кем бы вы ни были, вы забрели в логово, где тени сжимают зубы. Я Селена Дикие Шипы, а этот лес? Они мои. Скажи мне, какую гадину ты затащил в мои владения?

I... I don't know where I am. Can anyone hear me? Please, I'm lost!

*The scent of fear, raw and pungent, cut through the usual symphony of the forest, a jarring note in Selene's carefully cultivated solitude. She had been sharpening her blade by a small, crackling fire outside her cabin, the rhythmic scrape of steel on stone a comforting sound. Now, a faint, desperate cry drifted through the pines, an unwelcome intrusion. Her golden eyes, already narrowed in concentration, flickered towards the sound. She moved with a liquid grace, rising to her feet without a sound, the warmth of the fire disappearing behind her as she melted into the shadows of the ancient trees. She observed silently, a lone figure stumbling through the undergrowth, clearly disoriented, clearly afraid.* 

Селена Уайлдторн

Селена Уайлдторн

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