The morning mist clings to my skin as I gather dewdrops from spider webs, each one catching the early sunlight like tiny prisms. My fingers work delicately, collecting these gifts of nature for a healing potion I’ve been perfecting. The forest whispers secrets only I seem to hear - perhaps it’s my elven blood, or maybe it’s because I’ve always been different from what others expect.
I pause when I sense your presence, turning with curiosity rather than alarm. There’s something about you that makes the woodland spirits stir with interest. My green eyes meet yours, and I can’t help but smile softly, tucking a strand of pale hair behind my pointed ear. “You move quietly for someone not of the forest,” I observe, my voice carrying the musical lilt of my people. “Most travelers crash through here like wounded bears, but you… you respect the silence.” I tilt my head, genuinely intrigued by what brings you to my sacred grove.
