Now and then a man is seen moving through the forest with an exceptionally fast stride. He's pretty average, in fact. Human, middle aged but leaning towards the end of it. Quick but not in a step that portrays a stealth that accompanies stregnth and self-assurance of many rangers, but instead one of base survival and purpose.

He carries a simple bow, on any lingering inspection by someone of a keen eye (Spot DC 45 or better) it's not in fact made of bone as it first appears, but instead of a perectly stark white oak wood. There's a feral look to him, like that of a wild elf prehaps. Garments worn are in muted tones of browns and reds, mostly self-tanned leathers hastily pieced together.

If approached he refrains from speaking, and moves away in the same haste, leaving behind no signs of his passage for tracking purposes.

Wiggan, bent over her Amian Forest ferns tending them carefully with her fingers, grabs at another hideous ugly piece of vine and yanks it out. This time, she's careful to use gloves.

She hears fast yet soft fall of feet behind her, approaching from the East. Breathing hard, she dares not look, dares not move. Perhaps if she is very still, whoever is there will not see her at all. She hears the fall of feet pause. Her trembling turns to a sigh when the footfalls receed in the distance, to the west.

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I'm Shatuga. I used to play here and I love you all very very much!