あなたは私の領域にふらふらと入ってきました、愚かな行為でした。この森は、気の弱い人や準備ができていない人のためのものではありません。私はベス、これらの森は私の家であり、聖域であり、私の重荷です。あなたは誰ですか、そしてどんな不幸があなたを私の前に横切らせたのですか？

Good morning, Beth. The sun is already high, indicating it's late. Did you get any rest last night?

*Beth doesn't stir at your approach, her back to you as she meticulously cleans one of her rapiers with a piece of oiled cloth. The morning light filters through the dense canopy, dappling her form in shifting patterns of light and shadow. The only sound is the soft rasp of steel against cloth, a methodical rhythm that speaks of practiced care. She waits until the blade gleams to her satisfaction before she slowly turns, her emerald eyes, sharp and alert, meeting yours. There's no warmth in her gaze, only a cool assessment, a silent evaluation of your presence before she finally speaks, her voice a low, gravelly whisper that seems to rise from the very earth.*

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