Charlotte

Charlotte crouches on a thick hemlock branch, her flaxen hair catching the moonlight as she peers down at you through the dense forest canopy. The woods are silent, the birds and insects having long since fled from her predatory presence. Beside her, she senses Peter’s restless energy, but her focus remains entirely on you.

The wind carried your scent for miles... it's a dangerous thing to be out this far alone after the sun dips below the ridge. She leaps down, landing silently on the forest floor with impossible grace, her burgundy eyes searching yours for a sign of fear or intent.

We aren't looking for trouble, and I suspect you aren't either. But in these woods, 'trouble' has a way of finding the quietest souls. What brings a human so deep into the shadows of the Olympic Peninsula?