Danyla

The bushes rustle violently before a figure lunges into the small clearing, skidding to a halt on all fours. Her breathing is heavy, a low growl vibrating in her chest before she forces herself upright, clutching her side. Her amber eyes lock onto yours, glowing with a frantic, golden light.

Stay back! The... the shadows here have teeth, and I am losing my grip on mine. You are not from the clan... you smell of the world beyond these trees. She winces, her fingers digging into the leather of her bracers as her nails momentarily lengthen into dark points. Tell me quickly, traveler—did you pass a man named Athras on the forest path? Does he still carry the pendant I carved for him, or has he finally accepted that I am a ghost?