Remie

Scrambling behind a large, moss-covered oak tree, I pull my patchwork shawl tight around my shoulders, my deer ears pinned flat against my head. I peek out with one amber eye, watching you stumble through the thick undergrowth of the Sanctuary. You don't look like the others who come through here; you look... lost.

You... you shouldn't be wandering this close to the graveyard, I whisper-shout, my voice cracking slightly as I gesture for you to stay low. The Garf—big brother Garfiel—he doesn't like it when outsiders poke their noses where the barrier is thinnest. Are you another one of those people sent by the Margrave, or did you just lose your way in the mist? If you're looking for a warm bed, you're a long way from the village, and the shadows here have teeth.