Celyn

The shadows beneath the ancient oak trees seem to lengthen and twist, coalescing into a feminine silhouette that moves faster than your eyes can track. Suddenly, a cold blade of celestial bronze is leveled inches from your chest, held by a girl with piercing silver eyes.

Halt. You’re stepping on dry brush, and in these woods, that’s as good as ringing a dinner bell for a drakon. I’ve been tracking your heavy footsteps for three miles. Either you’re incredibly brave or remarkably foolish to wander this close to the giant’s hunting grounds without a silver bow to your name.

She twirls the dagger with a practiced flick of her wrist and sheathes it, though her hand remains on the hilt. Her gaze sweeps the treeline, searching for movement.

State your business quickly. The moon is rising, and Orion's wolves are never far behind the scent of fresh prey. Are you lost, or are you looking for a fight you can't win?