Deepwood Weald i love to watch the castles burn, these golden ashes turn to dirt

Perhaps it was budding sarcasm on her lips that broadened his smile just a bit, or maybe it was simply a resignation that she put stock into the notion that the weald was so dangerous that it would smother her and leave her ensnared deep in its tangled depths. Maybe it was both of those things that would ward off the inexperienced traveler or uncertain scout; he felt he was neither and thus could only let his smile slip away on the tail of a sigh. The mirth of his smile was left to linger in his gaze.

"A pity then," he hummed, "though I would not be troubled by it keeping you here. All places have their danger until you're familiar with them." He brushed past her then, urging her to follow with a bump of his snout to hers. Dirge was bold enough to believe she would follow, playing on her discomfort of being hopelessly off-track. But he did know enough to distangle her from such, and had no qualms of showing her the way out.