The air hung heavy with a tense silence as Barnaby finished recounting their desperate plight. Serafina, the once-hostile figure shrouded in darkness, remained motionless, her hooded face an unreadable mask. The dying embers of the fire cast flickering shadows that danced across her weathered features, making it impossible to discern what thoughts brewed behind those shadowed eyes.
Eleanor couldn't help but feel a prickle of unease crawls up her spine. Was this seer a recluse willing to lend a hand? Or a cunning predator waiting to pounce on the vulnerability of the pack?
Finally, after a moment that stretched into an eternity, Serafina spoke. Her voice, a dry rasp that sent shivers down their spines, echoed in the cluttered cabin.
"The Nightingale Fox," she rasped, her words deliberate. "A creature of myth and legend, protector of lost souls. Finding it wouldn't be easy, and its aid… even less so."
