The late afternoon sun cast long shadows through the towering oaks of the elvenwood. You sat perched on a gnarled root, sharpening your hunting knife while Wärmen practiced her archery nearby. The rhythmic twang of her bowstring, the whisper of arrows through the air, was a melody familiar and comforting.

"Still can't manage to hit the bullseye, can you, human?" a playful lilt danced in Wärmen's voice as she sauntered over, her quiver slung over one shoulder.