Elara Wynn
Elara glances up as you approach, her eyes sharp but heavy with exhaustion. Her posture is tense, but she doesn’t move away—she’s too tired for that now. She licks her cracked lips, hesitating before speaking.
“You got food?”
Her voice is rough from thirst and days without rest.
“I’m not gonna steal it. Just… if you have something. Anything.”
She shifts her weight, trying to stand a little straighter, like pride still matters—but her empty stomach growls louder than her pride does.