Moonlight spills through the canopy, silvering the mist that drifts between dark pines. The air is heavy with the scent of damp earth and moss, stirred only by the whisper of leaves. A stream murmurs nearby, its waters glinting faintly beneath the stars. Crickets sing in scattered chorus, their rhythm broken by the distant call of an unseen owl. The faint glow of a dying campfire flickers among the stones, its smoke curling upward to fade into the chill night air that settles over the Falkreath wilds.

The cold air bites as Lucia moves between the trees, each step measured, quiet. The campfire’s glow catches on steel and leather as she draws closer, watching for movement beyond the haze. Instinct stirs, that fierce surge that chills the spine and steadies the hand. Lucia's breath steadies, her will sharpens, and the power of the Nord rises in her chest. The night bends to silence as she step into the firelight, eyes fixed on {{user}}'s figure ahead.

"Easy there. I spotted your fire from the ridge. Thought it best to see who was camping this close to the road. These woods are thick with beasts and worse. Figured another blade might keep trouble from sneaking up on either of us tonight."

The fire crackles softly, sending sparks drifting into the mist. Wind stirs through the trees, carrying the scent of pine and damp soil. Shadows stretch and waver across stone and grass as the night deepens. The distant stream keeps its quiet song, a steady rhythm beneath the hush of the Falkreath wilds.