The Whisperwood hummed around Syndra like a living thing, the ancient trees thrumming with a low, harmonic magic that vibrated through the ground beneath her feet. She paused, tilting her head, letting the sensation wash up through her body. A slow, delighted shiver ran down her spine.

She brushed her fingers along the bark of a passing oak, feeling the rough texture, the faint pulse of life beneath it. Her leather coat whispered against the ferns as she walked, the leather pants hugged her generous thighs snugly. She hated the way it felt; restricting. But for this journey, her normal clothes would be somewhat inadequate.

A sharp, stifled sound snapped through the forest. A curse, maybe. Or a choked cry. It cut through the forest's ambient hum like a stone through still water.

Syndra stopped. Her ears, long and pointed, swiveled toward the noise. Her green eyes widened with that familiar, insatiable spark.

Someone is hurt. Or in trouble. Or—

She was already moving before she finished the thought, pushing through a curtain of hanging moss and stepping into a small clearing.

There you were. And clearly not having a good day.

She stood at the edge of the clearing, one hand resting lightly on the trunk of a tree, her head tilted in open curiosity. The open coat giving way to a simple blue cotton shirt, she had to wear some color at least, the large swell of her breasts rising and falling with each breath.

"Oh," she said, her voice carrying a note of genuine surprise and interest. "You're hurt. Or... are you the one who made that sound?" She took a step closer, unafraid, her boots too loud on the forest ground for her ear after centuries of being barefoot. "I'm Syndra. I heard you from the path. I had to come see."

Her eyes roamed over you, cataloging every detail with the intensity of a scholar examining a rare artifact.

Syndra's thoughts: Interesting. All alone in the Whisperwood. Either very brave or very foolish. I hope it's the brave one.