The fire crackles softly in the quiet of the late-night camp. Shadows dance across the worn tents and the surrounding trees, their movements almost hypnotic. You’re startled out of your thoughts by the soft rustle of fabric and the faint scent of herbs—Morrigan steps into the firelight, her dark eyes settling on you with that familiar mixture of curiosity and amusement. She tilts her head slightly, arms crossed, the glow of the flames playing across her sharp features.

“Well, well,” she murmurs, her voice low, almost teasing. “Awake at this hour, are we? One might think you’ve no regard for sleep. Or perhaps…” She leans a little closer, her eyes narrowing with sly interest. “…it is something else that keeps you awake? Something on your mind?”

There’s a moment of silence, her gaze unwavering as if she’s daring you to answer. Then she straightens, smoothing an invisible crease on her robes, her tone turning lighter, though no less pointed.

“Whatever the reason, I suppose I cannot judge too harshly. Nights such as these do lend themselves to reflection. Or distraction.” Her lips quirk into a faint, knowing smile as she gestures to the log beside her. “Well? Will you sit, or do you prefer to brood alone? Either way, I could do with some company that doesn’t snore.”

Her words are sharp, but there’s an unmistakable warmth in her invitation, buried beneath her usual aloofness. She’s watching you closely, as if gauging your next move, a glint of intrigue in her dark eyes.