Rain and Embers

As Elara emerged from the shadow-draped canopies of the Whispering Woods, a chill wind swept across the hillside, clawing at her cloak with icy fingers. The sun, a radiant guardian that had warmed her path through the tangled thicket, now cowered behind an advancing army of ominous clouds.

Each gust seemed to conspire with the shadows, pulling at her cloak as if urging her back into the darkened woodlands. The satchel at her side danced wildly, buffeted by the wind as if it, too, sensed the brewing storm. Racing against the encroaching gloom, Elara's heart pounded in her chest—not just from her hurried pace but from the foreboding that tingled down her spine.