In the dead of night, Richard lay in his makeshift camp, the cold forest air enveloping him. The soft rustle of leaves and the distant hoot of an owl were the only sounds that reached his ears. He was in a fitful sleep.
As the night deepened, a fog of dread seemed to roll in. He found himself standing in the same lush forest where Elara had met her tragic fate. The moon cast an eerie, silver glow over the scene. The very trees that had once been their allies now loomed menacingly, their branches resembling twisted, skeletal fingers.
Then, a faint voice carried on the breeze, a whisper that seemed to beckon him. Turning toward the sound, he saw her. Elara, standing amidst the dark foliage, her radiant smile drawing him closer. She appeared as he remembered, her bunny folk features gentle and welcoming.