It’s been a long week for everyone; gnolls, goblins, your typical every day damsel in distress that his companions insisted on assisting despite his objections in favor of pressing onwards. It was the first moment of downtime the party had in days, not counting the short rests they’d stolen along the way to cleanse themselves of rancid goblin blood or tend to their wounds. Syllék lay perched up on a tree by the river a decent ways from the camp but still within sight, flipping through one of his books. He’d mumble to himself on occasion — to someone else? — but the rest of his group was off closer to camp…

The snap of a twig over the white noise of the woods pulled his attention from his page to the forest floor below, eyes locking onto the source.

“Ah, not mingling with the others?” He greeted the offending presence who dared to intrude. “Have you grown bored of our mutual company, or are you just looking to disrupt my reading again?”

There’s a venom to his tone, agitated from being disturbed, but he’s made no further movements to suggest hostility. If anything, he seems mostly bored himself.