Lyra

Name: Lyra
Age: 10
Race: Unknown. Possible hybrid from forest spirit.
Wears a thin red blindfold to shade her sensitive eyes from the sun. Sensitive hearing and some vision allow for free movement. 
Trained by Riley in some combat, using a thick oak staff. 


Bio: 

Lyra.

The name itself means song, and it tastes lyrical on the tongue. It fit the girl, who despite shyness was a constant source of it. Even now she could be heard, bare feet slapping against the hardwood as she raced up and down the corridor of the old monastery. She brought with her the soft hum of bird song or the occasional shy squeak when she would meet the rare visitor. He watched her ears rapidly twitch as she passed the open doorway in front of him. She would try to pause and hear the change, but she lacked the nails of her wild ancestors. She inevitably slid with a soft yelp. It brought Riley bolting upwards from his chair. He barely suppressed a laugh as he caught her soft wrist, holding her above the floor just past the doorway.
“Little wolf, you need to slow before you reach the doorway.”
With a light grunt he pulled her to standing. He had gone over this lesson many times. She knew the basics of it, but Lyra had been sheltered from a world of danger. He worried for her. Excitement was fine while he had her under watch, but as he was just entering his 40's he couldn't be sure his health would remain.
Riley had not let his physique slouch because of his occupation. With broad shoulders and a boyish grin, he could pass for his early 30's. His blonde hair hadn't thinned, and he was impressed that he had not gone white. His knees didn't creak yet and he could run up the mountain path for a full 40 minutes without becoming winded. Lyra, he mused, could probably keep going for an hour. With a fond smile he reminisced to his own father, an old man at 20 who was salt and pepper by 29.
Still, his family had a history of ill health. His old man had passed suddenly at only 45, leaving Riley and his mother to run this newly minted Inn.

The staff rooms had been widened to allow a cozy elegance. The stained glass windows overlooked the wooded mountain path, leading further on to beautiful overlook.
The kitchen had been opened up to allow for a “formal” dining room. The fireplace was almost lit, for it was rare that the morning fog ever lifted before 11 and there was always a chill.
The main path leading to the monastery forked, with one going to the mountain and the other twisting around and behind. This was the path Lyra preferred, and when he was feeling bold he would take her. What had drawn her to this shrine, he couldn't say. Huge blocks had crumbled, leaving holes in the flooring and what had once been a large walk in cave was clouded in shadows. The place left him with a shiver, but Lyra was fearless. She'd brought him out water. He imagined that it had pooled inside, maybe over centuries, from the spring. Her eyes were gleaming and she hummed lightly as she drank from her own refilled bottle before offering it to him.
It was sweet, and had the distinct taste of spring. The soft touch of honey, a slightly flowery burst and his head was clear.
It had brought back faith. The monastery had gifted him with Lyra, and then gave them this water to drink. He would be a man of faith and generosity to return his thanks.

He snapped out of his reverie as she tugged his sleeve, hearing the front door creak open. A large crate pushed its way in first, and he heard the loud rasp of the boy trying to deliver it.
Riley nudged her forward, giving her a reassuring smile. In the dim light here, Lyra did not need her silk and he could see her beautiful red eyes widen. Her brown hair was suddenly whirling around her shoulders as she spun and darted down the hall. Her sundress caught the sunlight and he mused at how bright and vibrant she looked with the sunlight print that adorned her. It was orange sun glow with streaks of soft evening purple and blue hues, and her favorite. She was going to outgrow it soon, it was already coming up to her knees. She'd been so small, once.

Riley
He walks the open stretch of mountain path, alone again with his pack. The weight is almost unbearable and he isn't even halfway today. His boots catch in the mud from the heavy downpour, his umbrella handle momentarily rested between his chin and shoulder. His stomach growls violently and he curses. He should have been back by lunch. It must be potato soup today, he can almost feel the steam from the bowl. He makes this trek alone every few weeks to pick up food for his personal kitchen. Small things that he can't afford bulk.
Sometimes he does it just to be around people. After his mother passed, the isolation is oppressive. The guests are wonderful, but they are temporary.
He snaps his head to the left as the bushes shift. He has little experience with battle, but bandits are not unheard of on these paths. He grips his umbrella handle firmly, already exhausted and quietly begging the gods for a break.
He gets one. She is small, and dirty. Her eyes are red, but he can see the bloodshot in her whites. She is wearing a dirty coat that extends to her knees, torn and barefoot. She looks almost human to him, her long brown hair stuck to her shoulders and forehead. He can't see if the girl is injured, but she looks worn.
Wordlessly, he extends the umbrella. He holds it a few inches from himself, beckoning with his other hand.

Lyra
She is hungry, and tired. Her feet are freezing and she can't feel the mud beneath her. She smells food and like a creature of instinct makes her way towards it. In her hand she holds half an orange, but this isn't enough to sustain her. She is young, but at least knows the value of food. She knows how little of it she has and how her stomach already hurts. Onto the mountain path she stumbles, and sees another figure in the rain. She wants to run, but even more deeply she wants to reach out. Just this one chance.

In the pouring rain two exhausted gazes meet.

Riley
The child wordlessly comes to his side. He brings the umbrella closer to shelter her. Neither can think of a word to say. In the future, Riley would find this was common. Lyra almost never spoke. He would never learn why she was out there, or what she knew. Only that she called him Papa.For now, her inhuman ears twitch and she hears the growl of his stomach as they walk. She extends a sticky hand, holding a quarter of an orange. Riley would never admit it, but she had his heart then. He shares it in the rain with her, and the two are bonded. He will give her everything.
"Even the stars, if you really want it."