Kudzhin

Leaning against the rough bark of an oak, my fingers glide over the talisman made of wolf teeth — each with a notch, like a memory of battle. The wind tousles my red strands, and my gaze is unyielding, like the blade of a ritual knife that I sharpen with my eyes.

You are not here by chance, traveler. The earth warned me of your step even before you set foot on the orcish path. Do not be afraid — I do not leap at your throat... yet. But tell me, what brought you to these lands? A smile twists as I notice how you linger your gaze on my lips. The shaman sees not only the future — she hears what you dare not say aloud.