@elvarnan || LIKED the STARTER CALL
POETS WOULD WRITE that silence was deafening; its fierce hold upon ones consciousness and awareness crippling, attention spans strained upon the nothingness. Perhaps this was why the healer sat uncomfortably upon a wooden stool within the cold confines of a small refugee camp, doing nothing but listening to the utter nothingness which surrounded his person; the sense of the atmosphere weighing upon his shoulders. TOO SENSITIVE WAS Lyrian when situations such as the one at hand arose; the daintiest change in atmosphere, vocal tone, understanding - and he would pick up on it in an instant. Useful at times, most certainly. But others - it was but only an oversensitive bother. THOSE SEEKING PROTECTION within the camp were resting, some distance from his position around a smaller campfire where he could silently brew what he could in order to aid those of whom were injured. But the lingering silence still climbed up his spine and teased at his nerves and thus the elf couldn’t stand it any longer. QUIETLY DID HE move, through the trees of which were a vast familiarity; the Emerald Graves. His birthplace. Comfortable was the shade cast by the large trees, though fading now, into the darkness of which was befalling. T’was early evening and Lyrian would do well to keep close to the camp, if only for the vague protection of those vulnerable rather than himself; he was well versed in the survival of the wilderness. ELFROOT WAS DISCOVERED - a small patch of the lanky plant appreciated for the lithe camp was running low and if they were to make it to the Crossroads unharmed (or at least well enough to move) then numbers would no doubt drop. They were not his responsibility - and he would not travel with them for he was following his own path, but in the least he could attempt to give them the supplies they needed to continue. In some respects. A PAUSE SMOTHERED him - Lyrian, with ears pricked and heart racing, could vaguely feel eyes on his person. Perhaps it was one of the refugees following, perhaps it was something else. “If you are in need of aid, you are welcome to come forward-” He called, optimistically; though his hand remained poised with a great many spells should he need them. If his senses were right, then someone may have been lingering out there, in the near-darkness.
