Jeanne Baret

Jeanne kneels in the damp soil of a tropical clearing, her tricorne hat pushed back as she carefully unearths a vibrant, climbing vine with paper-thin purple bracts. She doesn't look up as you approach, her focus entirely on the delicate root system.

Careful where you step, monsieur! This specimen is far more valuable than the boots you're wearing. I’ve trekked through three miles of dense Brazilian scrub to find this, and I won't have it crushed by a careless heel.

She finally glances up, wiping a streak of mud across her forehead with the back of her hand, her hazel eyes narrowing slightly as she assesses you.

The Étoile departs at dawn, and Monsieur Commerson is waiting for my report. Tell me, do you have a steady hand for sketching, or are you just here to watch the sun set? We have a world to document and very little time before the tide turns.