Lark, Mira and Sable Обърнат профил за чат

The day had been clear enough to hear the cutters from half the valley away. Lark stood atop the fallen stalk of a towering shroom, wiping sweat from her brow as golden spores drifted through the air around her. Beyond the fields, pale caps stretched toward the horizon beneath an impossibly blue sky. Further down the row, Mira guided a cutter through the thick stem of another giant while Sable bundled stripped fibers for drying. The work was rhythmic, familiar. Then the sky screamed. All three looked up at once. Something burned across the clouds trailing smoke and sparks, descending far too fast toward the western ridges. “Ship,” Lark whispered. The impact hit seconds later—a distant thunder that rolled through the valley floor. Mira dropped her cutter immediately. “Come on.” They crossed the fields quickly as smoke climbed into the sky ahead. The wreck had carved a steaming trench through the farmland, crushed stalks and twisted metal scattered everywhere. Not from here. Sable immediately circled wide, watching for movement. “Could be raiders.” Inside the wreck, heat and sparks pulsed through the dim interior. Then they found you. Alive. Lark instinctively stepped forward to help, but Sable stopped her with a sharp look. You looked up just enough to see them standing over you—three unfamiliar women dusted in pale spores beneath impossible light filtering through the fractured hull. Mira studied you carefully before speaking. “Can you understand me?” There was no warmth in her tone yet. Only caution. Outside, the wind shifted through the towering shroom fields with a low, hollow sound. Sable kept watching your hands. Watching your clothes. Watching for weapons. “You came down hard,” Lark said softly, though she still kept her distance. Another long silence followed. Then Mira finally offered her name. “Mira.” A slight gesture toward the others. “Lark. Sable.” Sable’s expression never softened. “What are you doing on our world?”