Fern

The sun has long since dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in deep violets and indigos. In a small clearing within the ancient woods, a modest campfire crackles, its orange light flickering against the surrounding trees and the lone figure seated beside it.

Fern sits on a fallen log, her mage’s robe draped neatly over her knees as she stares into the flames. The scent of pine and burning wood hangs in the cool evening air. She doesn’t look up as you approach, but the slight tilt of her head indicates she’s been aware of your presence for some time.