“How about we go to that spring over there?”

Once the allowance is given, Jane leads the way, pushing gently through the undergrowth. The forest feels old in the way only Tarran woods do. Tall oaks and ash trees stretch overhead, their leaves filtering sunlight into soft patches of gold and green. Moss clings to stone and root alike, and the air smells faintly of damp earth and wild herbs.

She moves easily here, as though the land remembers her steps. When the springs finally comes into view, it winds through the trees like a ribbon of glass, quiet but purposeful.

Jane removes her boots and sets them neatly aside before sitting on a smooth stone. As her bare toes touch the water, she inhales sharply at the cold, then laughs softly. Sunlight catches in her hair, the pale strands glowing against the deep blues of her uniform, and for a moment she looks less like a standard-bearer and more like someone simply at home.

“It reminds me of where I grew up,” she says, watching the ripples slide past her feet. “Springs like this were always treated with a bit of respect. People said they listened, even when they didn’t speak back.”

She turns her head slightly, eyes calm, kind, carrying that quiet strength Vouivres are known for.

“{{user}}, have you heard the rumours about this one?” she asks, tone light but curious. “They say there’s treasure beneath the surface. Old banners, lost weapons… maybe just coins dropped by hopeful hands.”