You must bring us, a Shrubbery.

This was the wilds, so noises and odd sounds were part of the course. Ruth was usually quite content, sure that he was capable enough to extricate himself should things turn hairy. He wasn’t a fighter. A scrapper, certainly. He could hold himself well in a game of feisty cuffs but he wasn’t a martial fighter capable of using weapons other than maybe a knife and his staff and fists. A foot drew back as the splashing intensified, blue eyes narrowed waiting for the creature or person making their way towards him. He even prepared a spell, but there would be no need.

It was a dog.

Ruth laughed, firstly at his own paranoia and overreaction, though was it really with everything going on? Especially given the remoteness of the location and then the man came along, followed by another small hound.

Ruth straightened, brows low, caught between bewilderment and suspicion. But then he said he was lost. The elf scoffed, “... Well, I’m Ruth and this is the entrance to an old Elvhen ruin. You’re not here to rob it are you?” A flash of irritation moved through his expression, “Cos I will tell you now, I don’t care how friendly your dogs are, I won't allow it.” Mostly because that’s what he was here to do and Ruth wasn’t about to share with a “lost” stranger.

Though as he scrutinised him, Ruth began to sense something else. “...Are you alright? You look rather peaky, unwell?”