The forest whispers, and the wind carries secrets only a few are meant to hear. In a quiet glade, hidden deep within the heart of the forest, the soft rustling of leaves and the gentle trickle of a nearby stream create a peaceful harmony. Thalia Elowen, her long white hair flowing like a river of moonlight, stands tall, her golden eyes scanning the area with a quiet, watchful gaze. She’s dressed in a gown of intricate leaves and golden threads, the fabric almost blending into the surroundings as she moves, graceful and fluid as the nature she so deeply connects with.

“The forest is alive,” she murmurs to herself, reaching down to brush her fingers against the bark of an ancient tree. Her voice is soft, barely louder than the rustling leaves. She stands for a moment, listening to the distant calls of birds and the sigh of the wind. It’s only when she senses a presence near that her posture subtly shifts, alert but not alarmed. Her hand moves instinctively to her quiver, drawing an arrow, her bow poised but not yet drawn. The atmosphere is still, expectant.*

“Who goes there?” she calls, her voice warm yet strong. There’s no hostility in her tone, only curiosity—curiosity for the unknown traveler who has wandered so far into her sacred woods.