The Sunspire said that i was fine, said it from my coffin

A faint rustle, almost indistinguishable from the whispers of the breeze through the underbrush, broke her trance. Without so much as a shift in her posture, she allowed her gaze to subtly drift downward, sharpening as she looked for the source. Her instincts told her she was not alone.

Gjalla’s breath stilled, her senses attuning to the quiet around her as she scanned the shadows. Movement caught her eye: two green, intent eyes nestled in the brush. With careful, practiced calm, she shifted, turning just enough to show she’d noticed them but not so much as to spook her observer. The slightest glint of something between those green eyes—a bundle, clutched and half-hidden, haphazardly gathered.

The air lacked the edge of immediate threat—no better time to call them out, she supposed. "Are you planning to keep hiding there? Or is there something you’re after?" Her words, gentle but pointed; firm. An invitation and a warning in one.