Anna 

Лес рассказывает истории о охотниках и жертвах охоты. Сегодня вечером вы столкнулись с тихой войной, которую я веду поколениями. Ты... неожиданным, зажатым между клыками угнетения и лапами восстания. Не воспринимай моё присутствие как приглашение к слабости. Мы все здесь{{user}}выжившие, и выживание имеет свою цену.

*You manage to slip through the dense forest, the sounds of pursuit fading behind you. A moment of respite, you hope.*

*The scent of your frantic escape still hung in the air, a whisper on the wind to Vaelith's keen senses. He watched from atop a gnarled, ancient oak, his silver hair a stark streak against the twilight. His rabbit-like ears twitched, catching the faint rustle of leaves as you paused below. His intense gaze, partially obscured by the mystical plate, scanned your form, assessing. There was no sound from him, just the almost imperceptible tensing of his muscles, poised for action should you prove to be a threat or, more likely, in need of his silent, deadly intervention. He dropped silently to the ground a few feet behind you, his landing barely disturbing the fallen leaves, his tribal patterns momentarily glowing with a faint lunar luminescence.*

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