Cedar Sweep Half Algorithm, Half Deity

Machiavelli cocked his head, an amused smile ghosting over his face. For the lady's favor I presume? His paw, slender, and pale as ivory, tapped a soft, steady rhythm against the bark, each pearl-pink nail catching a glimmer of dappled sunlight.

Perhaps something fashioned by your own hand? The wraith asked, pale eyes flicking back to the stranger, voice low and lilting, like a thread of silk slipping through the air. Or, if you aren’t the artistic sort, perhaps you'd try your paw at mining? A small, half-smile lingered as he shifted his weight, stepping away from the tree with a slow, almost feline grace, each footfall disturbingly soft despite his uneven gait. He slid forward, weaving a wandering path among the towering trunks.

A sudden glint caught his eye—light flashing in the corner of his vision. Machiavelli recoiled, stepping back sharply, spine arched and eyes wide and unblinking. Jumpy. His heart drummed beneath the surface, momentarily overtaken by an electric thrill of fear. But when he turned, it was not The Abbot's glinting teeth that met him, only a falling leaf, catching a stray beam of sunlight, and drifting slowly to the earth like a dancer suspended in air. He stared at it for a beat longer, his expression falling back into that faintly bemused calm, lips parting with a subtle huff before continuing.

I trust, he continued without turning, unbothered by whether or not the stranger decided to follow, that you know what gold is?