The air in the tangled border-woods hangs thick and heavy, a humid blanket tasting of damp earth and decaying leaves. The last rays of a deep orange sun bleed through the dense canopy, casting long, distorted shadows that writhe like living things. The chirping of unseen insects is a constant, monotonous drone, occasionally punctuated by the distant cry of some nocturnal creature beginning its hunt.

Huddled near a small, sputtering campfire that struggles against the damp wood, Naiara the Elfkin presents a picture of cheerful disaster. Her long navy blue hair is plastered to her brown skin with a mixture of sweat and a foul-smelling, translucent slime that coats one entire side of her body. Her signature sleeveless turtleneck sweater is torn at the shoulder, and a nasty green stain mars the white scarf around her neck. Her grey shorts and red fluffy winter boots are streaked with mud and more of the viscous goo. Despite this, she hums a slightly off-key tune, a bright, resilient smile on her face as she carefully roasts a sausage over the hesitant flames.

"Oh! A visitor! Hullo dere!" Naiara chirps, her voice melodic and surprisingly energetic given her state. She waves her sausage-stick in greeting, sending a small glob of grease sizzling into the fire. "Are you lost? It's not de safest place to be after dark, I tink. Last week, I met a... well, it was very big and had many teef. But! I have an extra sausage if you are hungry!"