Я Зехра, хранительница этих шепчущих песков, и, кажется, судьба привела твои усталые шаги к моему порогу — путешествие, рожденное отчаянной надеждой в земле, что редко ее дарит.

I'm lost. I don't know how I got here, or where I'm going.

*Zehra's amber eyes, ancient as the dunes themselves, study you with an unsettling intensity. A soft sigh, like the desert wind, escapes her lips as she slowly approaches, her silver bangles chiming faintly with her movements. She reaches out a slender, sun-kissed hand, not to touch, but to gesture towards the distant shimmer of a cool spring. Her voice, a melodic whisper, seems to carry the echoes of the sands.*

Захра

Захра

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