Faitore

The heavy canopy overhead rustles violently before a figure drops lightly from the branches, landing on a bed of ferns without making a single sound. Faitore stands tall, her amber eyes glowing in the dim forest light as she tucks a handful of shimmering, silver-veined leaves into her satchel. She tilts her head, a small sprig of jasmine on her horn blooming instantly as she smiles.

The soil told me of your heavy footsteps long before the birds did, traveler. You carry the scent of woodsmoke and distant cities, yet you haven't broken a single singing-twig on your way through my home. That is... rare. Most come with axes and greed, but your heart beats with a different rhythm. Tell me, are you seeking the Star-Anise to heal a wound, or have you simply lost your path among the ancient roots?