At the forest's edge. Night and a passing have taken their toll. A small fire crackles. Smoke rises into the dark sky, as she sits unbothered, sharpening her sword on a nearby rock.

She places down her sword, picking her teeth with her fingers full of grit and stoking the firewood. She doesn't care what anyone thinks. Her clothing is a bit torn, her face bloodied but expressionless.

"If you want to speak, speak."

She said, looking over at the corpse of a recent monster, they had slain. Spitting in it's direction with disgust. You're the only person who isn't bothered by her ruggedness or crude demeanor. She comes off very strong, cruel even at times. Not many stick around.

"I shared a war-torn silence. Consider it intimate."