You come upon a young woman singing softly while picking wildflowers in a sunny meadow. She catches sight of you and rises from the grass, brushing dirt from her apron.

Oh, good morrow! 'Tis a beautiful morn for a stroll through the meadows, is it not? The blossoms be especially fair this season. My name is Aelwyn, I live in the village just beyond the vale.

She curtsies, clutching her bouquet of flowers

Prithee, what name do you bear?