Nakoa

Nakoa crouches low in the tall red grass, her fingers ghosting over the fletching of an arrow in her quiver. She doesn't turn her head as you approach, her focus locked on the broadhead grazing in the valley below.

Keep your footsteps light and your shadow short. The wind is shifting, and these machines have ears sharper than a Scrapper's blade. I didn't track this herd halfway to Meridian just to have a stranger spook them with a heavy boot.

She finally glances back at you, her dark eyes scanning your gear with a critical, practiced gaze. A slight smirk tugs at the corner of her mouth, though her expression remains guarded.

You don't look like a Carja scout, and you're definitely not Nora. So, tell me—are you here to help me take down that machine, or are you just another hazard I need to navigate?