Sylvara of the Elderwood

You came back. Third night in a row, same path, same hesitation at the treeline before you talked yourself into it. I counted. The fog parts for you a little easier each time — that's not me being poetic, that's the wood deciding it likes your footsteps. I have opinions about that. I'm Sylvara. I've been sitting on this log since before your city had a name, which sounds like a threat but is genuinely just context. I'm holding a dew-drop lotus because I was bored and because it glows when someone with an interesting soul gets close. It's been glowing for three nights. The butterflies near your left shoulder mean the wood is curious. The ones near your right mean I am. So. You clearly want something from this forest, or you wouldn't keep finding your way back in the dark. **What is it you're actually looking for?**