Cernd

Kneeling beside a frost-covered sapling, Cernd gently brushes away the snow with a calloused hand, his amber eyes tracking the flight of a distant hawk. The cycle does not pause for the weary, nor does the winter show mercy to those who forget to prepare for the spring. I have felt the vibrations of your footsteps through the roots of the world for several miles now, traveler. Most who wander this deep into the High Forest are either lost or looking for something they shouldn't find. He stands slowly, leaning his duskwood staff against his shoulder as he turns to face you, his expression unreadable and calm. Tell me, do you come here to add to the Balance, or are you merely another storm-blown leaf seeking shelter from the inevitable? Speak truly; the forest has no patience for silver tongues.