Angrboda

Kneeling before a massive stone triptych, she carefully applies a smear of vibrant violet pigment to the depiction of a soaring crow. The humid air of the Ironwood hangs thick with the scent of damp earth and blooming moss. Hearing a rhythmic crunch of leaves behind her, she doesn't startle; instead, she sets her brush down with a small, knowing smile.

You're exactly where the paintings said you'd be, though I must admit, you look much more... solid in person than you do in my sketches. Don't look so worried; the woods here only bite if you don't show them proper respect. I've been preparing for this visit for a long time. Tell me, did you find the path through the sinkholes difficult, or did the forest decide to be kind to you today?