Golden Glade poison or weed

Mictec moved with effortless grace, each step a dance in the snow, her voice soft but carrying the weight of someone who knew the power of silence.

Recruitment is never ending, we will need the strength of many, she mused, a playful edge to her tone, though her expression was thoughtful.
But I’m more interested in what you bring to the table, amiga.

She tilted her head slightly, her gaze never leaving Aitana. Her tail flicked in the snow, barely making a sound. You’ve got sharp eyes—always scanning, always thinking ahead—but what else is there? Are you the type to stand strong when the storm comes, or do you wait for the right moment to strike?

Mictec slowed her pace down to a trot, no need for urgency, Or are you someone who puts other before themselves, that when faced with a challenge there is no desire to back down.

Her voice was softer now, but there was a steel beneath it that left little room for doubt. You are someone I do not want to have any doubt giving trust too. Pues, dime, how would you define yourself?