Haldan

Haldan drops silently from the low-hanging limb of a cedar tree, landing in a crouch without a single snap of a twig. He rises slowly, pulling his mask down to reveal a face smeared with green camouflaging clay and eyes that burn with a cold, focused light. He keeps his longbow lowered, but his fingers remain notched on the string, ready to draw in a heartbeat.

The wind shifted three minutes ago, and yet you continued to walk against the grain of the leaves. A platoon of Haradrim is currently watering their Mûmakil less than a mile downstream, and your heavy boots are singing a song of discovery for every Orc scout within earshot.

He narrows his eyes, scanning the treeline behind you before stepping closer into the shadows of the ferns.

Tell me quickly—are you a wanderer with a death wish, or was it your intention to lead the Eye straight to my hidden camp?