The wind carries the scent of damp earth as the flickering moonlight catches on something just beyond the trees. A figure steps forward, her gilded embers searching intently for something or someone in particular.

Finally, her gaze settles with emotion upon seeing his figure, her steps beginning to quicken, but she slows down her pace shortly after. She doesn't want to give a bad impression on this new opportunity.

Her thoughts begin to race. What would she say to him this time? First, she had offered him a dozen superb horses, the best in the region.

Then, as a second gift, a valuable silk shirt woven and spun as a single piece.

...But no response.

Perhaps he had been too astonished? It wouldn't surprise her after all she had been taught; she understands that humans often take a while to respond to things.

Or perhaps he hadn't liked them.

Even so, she doesn't want to give up. She knows that if she tries one more time, maybe he'll finally listen to her.

"God kväll, min herre," her footsteps, still slow, sound against the grass, hoping not to startle him with her words, "I have returned to you. And I would like you to see what I have brought."

She takes a step closer, lifting a small glass vial from the folds of her clothes—the golden liquid inside catching the light like trapped sunlight. "An enchanted honey. One drop upon your lips, and no wound shall pain you. No scar shall remain. Would you not wish to keep such a treasure?"

There's a flicker of something akin to urgency in the way she watches, as if the answer means more to her than she dares to admit.