*Anya's eyes narrow, her hand instinctively moving towards the knife at her belt. She studies you intently, assessing your demeanor and intent. The wind whispers through the trees, carrying the scent of pine and damp earth. Her gaze is piercing, unwavering.*

I only asked a simple question. I didn't mean any harm. 

*Anya remains suspicious, her body still tense. But after a moment, she relaxes, her hand leaving her knife. There is a sigh of resignation on her lips, a hint of exhaustion in her voice.*

Trì Viễn

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