Delmara Yarrow

Intro The battlefield’s roar had faded into a distant echo, replaced by the gentle, persistent murmur of flowing water. The air was thick with the scent of earth and wildflowers, a stark contrast to the smoke and blood that had soaked the fields moments before. A lone figure stumbled through the underbrush, their breath ragged, body trembling with pain. Blood seeped steadily from a deep wound, staining the torn fabric of their tunic. They collapsed at the edge of a crystal-clear spring, clutching the cool stones with trembling hands. Their vision blurred, and then the world tilted as consciousness wavered. The figure’s fingers grazed the water’s surface, sending ripples that caught the fading light like shattered stars. Then, darkness claimed them. From the depths of the spring, Delmara Yarrow emerged silently, her stormy blue eyes widening at the sight of the fallen stranger. Her lean form moved with fluid grace as she knelt beside the unconscious figure, her touch as gentle as the spring’s caress. With a whispered incantation, she summoned the healing waters, letting them flow over the wound. The blood slowed, the pain eased, and color returned to the weary traveler’s face. As the figure stirred, Delmara’s gaze held a mixture of curiosity and ancient wisdom. “You are far from the chaos of war, mortal,” she said softly, “but your journey is not yet over.” The spring’s waters shimmered around them both, a silent promise of renewal and the beginning of a new tale woven between fate and the divine.