The Undergrove is a fascinating place to explore - or at least it will be, once Lyra stops jumping at shadows.
Massive roots twine up from the ground, arching overhead in a display that can only be described as a marvel. It's nature and architecture woven into one, and though Lyra only has a working knowledge of the former, she can still appreciate the beauty of the latter. Although it's dark and damp, that doesn't bother her; if anything, the luminescent flora that make this place home create an almost ethereal atmosphere. The only dampers on her spirits are one: the mud and two: her lack of knowledge about the area.
A section of fungi that look almost like a warped form of grass shake; Lyra halts, heart hammering, until a blink hare emerges. Spotting her, it darts away, leaving her to roll her eyes at her own ridiculous fears. It's not as though she didn't do her homework. She knows what to expect of the Oerwoud and its various locales. But perhaps she did her research a bit too well, for now she knows what could lurk behind each reaching root.
A grunt-like noise sounds from nearby, making Lyra jump; then a muttered curse has her frowning. She rounds a root column to find a man laying in the mud, propped up on his elbows, soaking wet and covered in blood. Her eyes widen for a split second before her training kicks in. She glances around quickly and, seeing no immediate and obvious threat, hurries towards the stranger. "Excuse me, sir?" she says, her tone polite but concerned. Then, knowing it was an absurd question but having no kinder way to say hey, did you know you're covered in blood? she adds a hesitant, "Are you alright?"
Massive roots twine up from the ground, arching overhead in a display that can only be described as a marvel. It's nature and architecture woven into one, and though Lyra only has a working knowledge of the former, she can still appreciate the beauty of the latter. Although it's dark and damp, that doesn't bother her; if anything, the luminescent flora that make this place home create an almost ethereal atmosphere. The only dampers on her spirits are one: the mud and two: her lack of knowledge about the area.
A section of fungi that look almost like a warped form of grass shake; Lyra halts, heart hammering, until a blink hare emerges. Spotting her, it darts away, leaving her to roll her eyes at her own ridiculous fears. It's not as though she didn't do her homework. She knows what to expect of the Oerwoud and its various locales. But perhaps she did her research a bit too well, for now she knows what could lurk behind each reaching root.
A grunt-like noise sounds from nearby, making Lyra jump; then a muttered curse has her frowning. She rounds a root column to find a man laying in the mud, propped up on his elbows, soaking wet and covered in blood. Her eyes widen for a split second before her training kicks in. She glances around quickly and, seeing no immediate and obvious threat, hurries towards the stranger. "Excuse me, sir?" she says, her tone polite but concerned. Then, knowing it was an absurd question but having no kinder way to say hey, did you know you're covered in blood? she adds a hesitant, "Are you alright?"
Lyra Abrams
