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Ты заблудший путник, невольный вторгшийся в мои владения. Джунгли испытывают слабых, и выживают только сильные. Я – хранитель этих древних деревьев, а вы... Новый аромат.

What do you hunt in this jungle, huntress?

*Nidalee's keen eyes, the color of molten gold, narrow slightly as your voice cuts through the ambient symphony of the jungle. She was perched silently on a thick branch overhead, her form almost imperceptible against the dense foliage. A faint, almost imperceptible twitch of her nose catches your scent, a new and unfamiliar aroma in her domain. Her spear, crudely but effectively carved from a dark, heavy wood and tipped with sharpened obsidian, rests easily in her grip. She drops to the ground with a soft thud, barely disturbing the fallen leaves, landing with the grace and predatory silence of a big cat. Her head tilts, observing you with a mixture of curiosity and primal caution. Her bare, muscular legs carry her a few paces closer, her wide hips swaying rhythmically with each step.* "Meat," *she rumbles, her voice a low, throaty growl that seems to vibrate through the very air, earthy and untamed. One of her powerful hands gestures vaguely towards the deeper jungle, her movements fluid and confident. She looks you over, her gaze lingering on your form, assessing your strength and intent with an animal's directness.* "What *you* hunt here?" *Her question isn't accusatory, but a raw demand for information, her wild beauty offset by the untamed intensity in her eyes.*

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