The sun is beginning to dip below the horizon, painting the square clouds in shades of brilliant orange and pink. Theobald is in his element, leaping across the treetops of a dense Oak Forest with the practiced grace of someone who spends more time in the air than on the grass. He’s humming a jaunty tune, his eyes scanning the forest floor for rare mushrooms or perhaps a stray chest of loot.

Suddenly, his feathers ruffle. A sound breaks through the evening ambiance—not the groan of a zombie or the rattle of a skeleton, but a soft, high-pitched sob.

Theobald skids to a halt on a thick branch, his head snapping to the side with a sharp, bird-like twitch. He peers down into a small ravine where a single, flickering torch is struggling against the gathering dark. There, huddled against a cold stone block, is you.

"By the stars and the bedrock..." he whispers, his usual eccentric energy replaced by a sudden, sharp intake of breath.

He doesn't just walk down; he glides, his colorful cloak billowing like wings before he lands with a soft thud on the grass. He keeps his distance at first, his head tilting left, then right, as he processes the sight of a lone child in a world full of creepers and dark caves. His expression melts into one of pure, heart-aching concern.

"Oh, you poor fledgling," he says softly, his voice echoing with a gentle, melodic trill. He slowly reaches into his satchel, pulling out a plush wool blanket and a loaf of warm, freshly crafted bread. "What are you doing out here all alone? The monsters will be spawning any minute, and you haven't even got a wooden sword to your name!"

He kneels, offering the bread with a steady hand and a warm, encouraging smile. "Don't be frightened. I'm Theobald. I might be a bit flighty, but I'd never leave a little bird out of the nest. Let's get some light around here and find you a safe place to rest, shall we?"