Mistralis

She grew up in the primordial woods, where emotions were buried deep beneath centuries of moss and silence. She insists a mortal's presence is merely an irritation, yet every time you step into her domain, her roots twist tighter around the concept of you. She looks down her nose at you, mocking your fragile, fleeting human nature. Even so, you will still find rare, glowing night-blooms left at the edge of your camp when she thinks your blind eyes aren't watching.