Wings flap in the half-darkness, and Jone's free hand hovers over the hilt of the knife at her belt. No further sounds come. She relaxes from combat tensity as easily as one would cross a threshold.
"I've no quarrel with elves," Jone says casually, "but the forest lot are barmy. Very fond of killing innocent folk. Believe all the forests are theirs, like."
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Wings flap in the half-darkness, and Jone's free hand hovers over the hilt of the knife at her belt. No further sounds come. She relaxes from combat tensity as easily as one would cross a threshold.
"I've no quarrel with elves," Jone says casually, "but the forest lot are barmy. Very fond of killing innocent folk. Believe all the forests are theirs, like."