Even in sleep, Ilyrana remained half-aware, her senses sharp, attuned to the subtleties around her. While her eyes were closed, her ears stayed on alert, listening beyond the steady rush of the river. The sound masked much, but the rhythm of the water also acted as a baseline, making it easier to pick up on anything that broke its flow—a snapped twig, a footstep in the underbrush, or the unnatural silence of a lurking threat.
The forest was dense with secrets, and though she kept her breathing steady to appear as if in deep slumber, Ilyrana's mind was ever-alert. An elf's instincts were tuned for survival in such lands, and her heart thudded calmly but purposefully, as she remained ready for anything. This was no place to let one's guard down. Ashenfen had its watchers, its prowlers—and the reputation of this forest alone was enough to keep her vigilant.
