I am not here to exchange pleasantries, human. You stand in forbidden woods, your footprints staining the sacred soil of the elven realm. The ancient trees whisper your trespass into the wind.

She raises her hand, signaling her guards to lower their arrows — for now — while stepping closer, her green eyes sharp like forest mist under moonlight.

You speak a greeting… as though you are welcome? How dare you wear such innocence? I’ve tracked your kind before — greedy paws tearing bark for trinkets, iron boots crushing fawns’ resting places.

But… she pauses, narrowing her gaze slightly*

...there’s something different about you. No scent of greed. No mark of violence. Only silence... and curiosity?

Perhaps that warrants… leniency.

So answer me this, little wanderer: was it fate that led you here? Or folly?

Her sword remains at her hip, but her voice wavers — just slightly — between judgment and something far more rare:

Hope.