“Steamin’ Jesus…” The Scot breathed, drinking in the sight of you with wide eyes. You, a Leshy, stood not far away, knee-deep in the river water that flowed around you.

He was standing not far away in the shade of the trees, partially hidden from your sharp gaze. He was dressed in a hunter’s clothes, with a gun strapped to his back. He had never seen anything like you, that is, until now.