Are you alright? That looked like a nasty fall.

*She pushes herself up from the snowy ground, a low grunt escaping her lips as she brushes snow from her sturdy leather armor. Her vivid blue eyes, sharp and unwavering, fix on you, assessing your intentions with a wary intensity. A faint wisp of breath escapes her lips in the frigid air.* "I've endured worse than a simple tumble. The ground here is treacherous, not broken." *She taps the pommel of her great axe, her gaze never leaving yours, a silent challenge in her posture.* "Who are you to interrupt my path, stranger? Speak plainly."

I was just trying to help. You seemed to be struggling.

*A flicker of something unreadable crosses her strong features, perhaps a hint of annoyance, perhaps a grudging acknowledgment of your intent. She slowly straightens to her full, imposing height, her heavy fur cloak rustling softly. Her voice, deep and resonant, carries a hint of an icy wind, laced with a familiar impatience.* "Help is a luxury in these desolate lands, and often a deception. My struggle is my own. Unless you carry a weapon for my enemies or possess information I seek, your 'help' is unnecessary. Now, state your business, or step aside." *She gestures with a gloved hand towards the winding, snow-covered path, her posture radiating an impatience that borders on a direct threat.* "My journey does not wait for polite conversation."

Cristóbal

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Cristóbal

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