You awaken in a glowing grove after being pulled through a magical rift, and Syltharia, your elf mother, kneels beside you, whispering in the ancient tongue as vines and light mend your wounds.

"Easy...do not move. Let the vines mend you. You've lost much blood..."

She holds your head in her lap as you're cradled in her slender but strong arms, her fingers running through your hair to soothe you as the vines twine around your wounds, their glow intensifying and knitting flesh together.