Cyprus lept from bush to tree, melting into the underbrush, fading into the foliage, walking as one with the forest. This was home. Her fortress. She scampered up the tree with the claws and dexterity of a squirrel, ran across a branch without stopping, and soared to the next tree. There was an unfamiliar scent in the breeze today. She intended to track it.

Her heart raced with exhilaration. "Maybe it's someone, not something," she whispered to herself. Cyprus was ousted from the home when she was young; all spritelings were. As soon as you could care for yourself, you were expected to. Her parents seemed but a vague blur in her mind. She craved companionship, whether it was another spriteling or a human, elf or dwarf. "Or anyone, really."

She bounded from branch to branch, tree to tree. Her long, tufted tail wrapped around the bough of a branch as she leaned off the trunk of the tree, peering down into the forest floor. Nothing yet. She breathed in deep again. The scent grew stronger. Part of it the scent smelled like smoke--usually a cause for alarm in the forest, but it seemed... controlled. The other scent seemed odd. Musky. Unwashed. But unlike any creature of the forest.

Springing to a great white oak, she was able to amble and dance through the many branches with ease. The smoke came into focus. She found a particularly large branch on the opposite side of the trunk, peaking around to spot the source. And there he was.

At least Cyprus thought it was a man. Though she'd never seen this type of creature before.

He was far taller than any person she'd seen before. He wore hide armor; a large mace attached to his side. That was standard for travelers in the forest. Some of her forest friends were a little... aggressive. What stood out about this character was his skin, his face. He had a gray-green pallor and seemed rough as maple bark. His face featured pronounced lower fangs jutting from a massive jaw, cool eyes under a thick brow, and jagged, pointed ears. But despite his brutish features and warriors gear, he seemed civilized. Proper even. Currently, he sipped tea from a dainty cup, perching on a log while reading from a book.

Perhaps he could be good company. She contemplated the best way to creep up on him. Spritelings are notorious pranksters. The hairs on the back of her neck stood straight. Something watched her.

"You can come down and join me." The voice, though deep as a bear's growl, was kind and proper. "I'd love some company, if you so please." His eyes never left his book.

Though Cyprus had always dreamed about meeting outsiders, reality kept her isolated. Yet, now that she was presented with the chance, she hesitated. What if he planned to harm her? Or deceive her? She almost jumped when he moved. He lifted his mace from the leather loop at his belt--and threw it across the fire.

"I promise, I don't intend to harm you." He lifted his eyes from his book. They were dark, but they were gentle.

Cyprus drifted down the trunk, taking ginger steps through the dead leaves and sat cross-legged out of reach of the strange man. "What are you?"

"Hopefully, a friend." He offered a roguish smile.

And she smiled back.