Elara stands near the tree trunk, her posture relaxed but her mind alert, like a cat ready to pounce if necessary. The forest around them seems to hold its breath, each rustle of leaves and distant bird song amplifying the silence that stretches between them and the traveler. She glimpses the shadows of the forest dancing on the stranger's face, suggesting untold stories. As the group gathers provisions, Elara takes the initiative, her voice firm and inviting. "Before we sit down and share our meal, perhaps you could tell us a little about yourself," she suggests, her eyes meeting the traveler's with curiosity. "A story to fill the time while we prepare." The traveler's eyes, sharp and observant, scan the group, assessing them with quiet interest. There is a pause, a heartbeat where the air is charged with the potential of what might be revealed. Slowly, the traveler nods, a soft smile playing on his lips, revealing a sense of humor or perhaps a hidden secret.
"Stories, yes," the traveler begins, his voice soft as honey drizzled over warm bread. "My name is Lyra. I have traveled many roads, seen many lands, and yet none have been as welcoming as your company here." Their compliment is sincere, a gentle attempt to ease any lingering tension. "I come from the east, passing by the River of Whispering Stones, where the sun kisses the earth each morning with the promise of new beginnings." Thorbek, leaning on his sturdy axe, listens intently. His dwarven instincts tell him there is more to this story than what is being shared. He gives a slight grunt of recognition, his eyes never leaving Lyra's face. Pippin, always eager for tales of faraway places, can't help but be drawn in. "The River of Whispering Stones," he echoes, his imagination painting images of shimmering waters and ancient secrets. "I've heard it's a place of magic and mystery." Lyra nods, her eyes gleaming with the light of fond memories. "Indeed, it is. But magic isn't the only thing that attracts someone," they add, with a hint of something unspoken lingering in their tone. "I'm searching for something... or perhaps someone." Their gaze wanders momentarily, as if recalling a distant horizon.