Kneeling in a small dip created by tree roots was a silvery statue of a humanoid figure. It had to have been there for quite a while based off the feathers and sticks atop its head and the slightly dull sheen to the armor it wore, but upon closer inspection, this form was no mere statue. Instead, this was a stilled warrior, one at peace with the surroundings about her. That pile of sticks and feathers was no mere bird's nest, but a carefully crafted tapestry with cascading patterns and securing twine, interwoven natural art with a few small animal furs as the base. Her face was exposed, though she looked not upon the forest around her as the sun set. This somewhat wizened woman appeared to be meditating, or was a champion at sleeping while sitting up. Before her, lying in the patchy grass, was a sword and shield, similarly silver like her armor. However, the faded away markings of what appeared to be falling water was etched into the shield, and coiling strands of leaves on a wiry branch decorated the scabbard of her blade. They also seemed at peace with the forest, as if nature itself had given its permission for them to exist. Underneath those was a traveling pack, sheltered as if it needed protection from beyond its metallic guardians.
Nothing had disturbed this statuesque woman or her gear, or at least nothing of real consequence. The air grew colder as time passed, and the woman began to feel the sting of the chill inside her nostrils. There was something else there though, a different tickle to her senses as it was carried on the wind. At first it was hard to discern, the faint whispers almost hallucination, but the repetition of it broke the woman free from her state.
Her nose scrunched up a little, and she cleared her throat. Eyelids fluttered like awakened from a dream and crystalline blue eyes took in the night. She glanced about ahead of her, noting how different the trees seemed in this lighting. A roll of her shoulders helped awaken her body as she further took in her surroundings. That particular scent wasn't going away. With a stiff heave, the woman propped herself up and dusted her knees off. A quick stretch to the sky and a gathering of her items followed, then she stepped up and out of her small shelter.
Another scan of her surroundings finally pinpointed that source of the smell: a fire illuminated a small patch through the trees, and the scent of food began to accompany it. Verðandi's face slightly frowned. Who had the gall to announce their position so boldly? Whether this would be an experienced or amateur camp, it deserved investigation. In no particular rush, she picked her way towards the camp, her eyes battling the sudden changes of light and constantly adjusting from light to darkness. Even in her heavier gear, Verðandi was at home in her silver fortress, and barely made noise as she trekked towards the treeline. As she got closer, it was obvious this was no enemy, at least not yet, and a bumbling fool stood awkwardly with a bowl in hand just across the way.
"Stay your hand, stranger," She gave as a greeting and a warning, crossing into the borders of the camp with her hands resting upon the pommel of her blade on her right hip. Her voice was deeper than most, but calm and comforting, like the beloved village elder or baker.
"I am no wolf."The old man in the cloak gave his welcome, and she dipped her head in thanks.
"My thanks, good sir." She accepted that offered bowl with her off hand and stepped aside, taking a position between the two men of the camp and sitting upon an old stump. She didn't remove that headdress as she brought that bowl to her senses, breathing in that meal. Her gut told her there was nothing to fear here, even among strangers found in the forest.