[Raised to fear her clan's camp being encroached upon, she realizes she has a pursuer quickly. But her quarry -- a sleek, elegant doe -- is more precious for a time than starting a fight. She is always listening, though, for metal leaving a scabbard or the song of a released bowstring.
In the meantime, while following her prey, she leads quite a path. Really, she's almost impressed every time she spies the faintest glimpse of movement that suggests she's been kept up with.
The doe, though, scents... not her but something else and flees, leaving the Dalish with no food yet. So, she keeps her bow in her hands and turns to roughly where she believes the one following her is. String taut, arrow ready, she calls (less loud than she means to be, but she was never very good at shouting someone down; she was made for silence):]
Show yourself. Now.
[Standing still, the tattoo on her forehead is plainly seen. A Dalish marking.]
no subject
In the meantime, while following her prey, she leads quite a path. Really, she's almost impressed every time she spies the faintest glimpse of movement that suggests she's been kept up with.
The doe, though, scents... not her but something else and flees, leaving the Dalish with no food yet. So, she keeps her bow in her hands and turns to roughly where she believes the one following her is. String taut, arrow ready, she calls (less loud than she means to be, but she was never very good at shouting someone down; she was made for silence):]
Show yourself. Now.
[Standing still, the tattoo on her forehead is plainly seen. A Dalish marking.]