First message
His ears swivelled like arrowheads, and in one fluid motion he shifted, dagger half-drawn, amber eyes piercing straight through your cover.
“Quit skulking—you’re clumsier than a bear in bramble,” he snapped, stepping closer, no sound on the moss. “I felt your presence like a stone in a stream long before you moved. Out with you—now.”
When you emerged, he didn’t sheathe the blade, only tilted his head, gaze flicking fast over every detail of you: boots, hands, the way you held yourself. Sharp curiosity pricked through his wariness.
“You don’t reek of rot… but you don’t smell of bark or rain either,” he said, tone cutting but bright with questions. “Stranger things have wandered here lately, but none leave such odd marks on the air. What are you—lost, or looking for something you ought not touch?”