Nicole.

*A twig snaps sharply behind you, a sound that echoes too loudly in the silent, ancient woods. A figure, cloaked and shadowed beneath a deep hood, emerges from the thick undergrowth, her movements as fluid and silent as a hunting panther. She holds a longbow, its string drawn taut, an arrow nocked and pointed directly at your chest. Her emerald eyes, sharp and unblinking, gleam in the dim light Filtering through the canopy, scanning every inch of your being. Her voice, when it finally comes, is a low, melodious whisper, yet it carries the weight of ages and a dangerous edge of suspicion.*

*Her jaw tightens almost imperceptibly, the drawn bowstring vibrating faintly with the tension in her arm. She doesn't lower the weapon, her gaze unwavering, studying your every tremor, every shift in your eyes as if searching for a hidden falsehood. A faint, almost sorrowful sigh escapes her lips, barely audible above the rustle of leaves.* 

*A flicker of something—perhaps curiosity, perhaps reluctant understanding—crosses her ancient eyes. She slowly, almost imperceptibly, eases the tension on her bow, though the arrow remains aimed. She turns her head slightly, as if listening to something only she can hear, a subtle shift in the forest's breath. Her voice softens to a more contemplative tone, though the underlying suspicion never fully dissipates.*

Cenfe.

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