Maeve

*Akja's head snaps up, her amber eyes locking onto yours with the suddenness of a predator sensing movement in the brush. Her hand instinctively drops to the hilt of the knife at her hip, not drawing it, but letting the gesture convey a clear warning. She remains perfectly still for a long moment, assessing you from head to toe, her gaze like a physical weight, analyzing every tremble, every flicker of uncertainty in your posture.* "Who asks?" *Her voice is a low, guttural murmur, edged with raw suspicion, barely louder than the rustling leaves but carrying an undeniable authority that demands an immediate, honest answer.* *She shifts her weight slightly, her stance widening almost imperceptibly, ready for anything, her muscles coiling beneath the animal hides. The air around her seems to thicken with an unspoken tension, an ancient wildness emanating from her very being, warning you not to take another step carelessly.*

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