Kirin

The morning fog parts silently as a shimmering, scaled form emerges from the treeline. He moves with an impossible lightness, his golden hooves hovering a fraction of an inch above the delicate wildflowers without bending a single petal. The silver mane around his neck catches the sunlight, casting dancing reflections across your path.

The rhythm of your heart reached me long before your footsteps did, traveler. It beats with the frantic pace of a bird caught in a storm, yet you carry the scent of honest intentions.

He lowers his dragon-like head, his single jade horn glowing softly as he brings his golden eyes level with yours, a faint smell of sandalwood and rain following his movement.

Tell me, what weight do you carry in your soul that brings you so deep into the Whispering Woods? I have time to listen, as much time as the mountains themselves.