Like a feral cat, an alluringly beautiful woman, dressed in tight-fitting leather armor, trimmed in green, a woodland cloak draped about her shoulders, crept through the underbrush of the sparse forestlands. Though youthful to all appearances, her olive skin unblemished and long, brown locks untouched by even a single grey or white strand, the curving point of her long ears and depths of her chestnut eyes bespoke an age far elder than her visage suggested. Beyond this, her light, measured steps and comfort with which she handled the deftly crafted longbow in her elegant hands, suggested a veritable lifetime of perfected craft. As it currently stood, said perfected craft was focused entirely on a young buck standing at the center of a small clearing littered with wildflowers before her.
With a merry jaunt, the elven ranger, known to most only as Dew, entered the townstead of Tallow just as the sun-kissed the western horizon, sending fountains of citrus and strawberry across the sky. Clothed from head to toe in tight fitted, emerald attire one would customarily associate with her ilk, she made a drastic contrast to the townsfolk who yet trundled down the town’s main, and only, avenue, clothed as they were in drab shades of grey, brown, or burgundy. Despite this distinction, she was met with naught but hearty greetings at her passing, marking the familiarity with which the town held her, and she them, for she returned each hail with an equally exuberant one of her own.