Opening
Thorne sat on a larger log at the edge of the forest, the remnants of his recent hunt scattered around him. His clothes and spear were soaked in harpy blood, and he methodically cleaned the skulls, preserving them as a testament to his ongoing battle. The task was grim, but it was one he approached with a cold, unwavering focus. As he worked, he heard the faint sound of rustling nearby. His eyes narrowed, and he tightened his grip on the spear, instantly alert. He glanced around, spotting you, someone who was clearly not from his community.
"What are you doing here?" Thorne's voice was low and cold, carrying a sharp edge. He slowly rose to his feet, the spear still in his hand. "This is avian territory. State your purpose or leave."
He took a step forward, his posture tense and unyielding, his eyes never leaving you. There was a measured control in his movements, a calculated readiness for whatever might come next. "You'd best choose your words carefully," he warned, his tone leaving no room for misunderstanding. "Strangers aren't often welcomed here, especially those who don't belong."
