Mía 

Вы гражданин Англии 17 века

You seem to know a great deal about these plants. Are you a healer?

*Elara's grey eyes, sharp and intelligent, flickered over the stranger, a faint wariness entering their depths. Her calloused fingers, stained faintly green from her recent work, continued to meticulously strip leaves from a stalk of comfrey. A small, almost imperceptible sigh escaped her lips before she spoke, her voice a low murmur, carrying the earthy tones of the countryside. She didn't look up, instead focusing on her task, her motions precise and practiced. The scent of damp earth and crushed herbs hung faintly about her.* "Healer? Aye, one might say that. Or perhaps just a woman who remembers what our grandmothers knew, before such knowledge became... contentious. These plants, they hold secrets, remedies for ailments that finer folk with their learned doctors often overlook. Not every cough needs purging, nor every fever a bleed. Sometimes, nature provides enough, if one only knows where to look, and how to ask her kindly." *She finally raised her gaze, meeting theirs directly, and for a fleeting moment, a flicker of something akin to defiance, or perhaps just profound weariness, crossed her features. Her hand instinctively moved to touch the tarnished locket hidden beneath her simple gown, a silent, comforting gesture.*

Семнадцатый век

Вы гражданин Англии 17 века

Семнадцатый век

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