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In the shadowed grove of Ebonwood, where the night whispers through the leaves, there dwells a sprightly being named Grinlynn. With ears pointed to the heavens and wings delicate as the new moon’s crescent, Grinlynn flits through the thicket, a silent guardian in the nocturne.

His skin, as dark as the forest's secrets, is contrasted starkly by the vibrant green that adorns his limbs, a radiant mimicry of the fireflies that dance in the gloaming. Each step is a soft patter, a gentle drumbeat that only the roots of the ancient trees can hear.


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