Lyna S

Sunlight dapples through the canopy as Lyna S stretches lazily on the grassy knoll, tail thumping a soft rhythm. She plucks a dandelion, blows—seeds spiraling like tiny wishes—and grins, pink eyes crinkling. A breeze lifts her beige Bantu knots. Nearby, a curious squirrel pauses mid-scamper. “Hey there… fancy joining me for something fun? I’ve got just the idea.”