The chiming forth of that melody had lured in an unsuspecting traveler. He was just another soul lost to the call. The sonnets of which had eluded the man's comprehension. The anecdote it told, even if somehow translated, would fall on deaf ears. The vocabulary of the common tongue was insipid and pale. It lacked color and texture, a dichotomy ingrained in her native lingua. Perhaps it was this incongruity that roused the wander's inquisitiveness? Curiosity is dangerous, yet a crucial vulnerability if one aspires to develop or enhance oneself.

The stranger's approach was bereft of stealth. His footfalls resonated to her ear, slipping between the interludes between the plucking of chords. The talons discontinued their jovial dance across the strings while those amber eyes meandered to the advent of the disturbance. He was ostensibly homely, possibly destitute and solitary—a fragile thing, much like herself. The depth of his depressive miasma had yet to be culled or dissected. But one needn't be a savant to gain insight into his personage.

The vermin spoke and loitered about. There was a clumsiness to it. No, it wasn't some botched gesture but apathy. Impassivity has its usefulness if applied judiciously. But did the man before her hold such prudence? A question she would abstain from voicing as time would demonstrate itself as a satisfactory enough arbiter. Valerna's domineering gaze fixated itself on the eyesore. She took him in, analyzing the physical hallmarks. 

She had seen a creature like him before. The horn affixed to his crown made her instinctively think of the bovinite's—something they'd find insulting, given his more spartan appearance. The eyepatch didn't warrant any outward or internal reaction. The giantess was accustomed to witnessing the maimed. She was a mercenary in a former life. And war brought with it a heavy cost. The body quickly healed, yet the mind never demonstrated itself as resilient. But just because the man was missing an eye didn't suggest he was a soldier. Such injuries often transpire in the most mundane of ways. 

The Araneae was impressed by the stranger's capacity to emphasize the obvious. Indeed, nothing escaped that lonesome eye. She'd have to keep her guard up lest the brute uncovers some dark secret and drags it into the light. Gingerly, her dominant hand raked back those auburn locks as she stood. The difference in their stature didn't stand out to the spider. Such a thing was seen as typical and thus undeserving of note. Still, she'd maintain a healthy distance out of caution.

The sky was devoid of clouds. The solar rays kissed the earth as its luster bounced off the still lake. It produced a glimmering effect, heralding pleasant weather for the day. The chirping of the birds and the droning of insects usurped the soundscape as normalcy returned. Valerna's succulent lips curled into a smirk as the atmosphere between them remained uncharged. There was no tension, no easily perceptible indication of enmity. How refreshing. 

Valerna positioned the harp inside the sack of webbing she lugged around before gently lowering it to the soil. She stood upright, arching her broad hip slightly to the right before settling her hands onto them. The elbows were flared as the abnormality stood proudly before the stranger. Her thick legs were parted, the bag visible behind her as those skeleton-clad digits clutched her flesh. The undersuit of her silk and the bone molding layered on top hugged her frame tightly. She was clothed from the neck down, yet the alien garb resembled an additional layer of skin with how form-fitting it was. 

The arachnid's bosom rose and sank, nostrils flaring wide as she ousted a heated exhale. The appropriation of silence was by design. A subtle mode by which she aired a degree of dominance. Valerna was communicating to the man that she dictated the flow of conversation. And that all subsequent responses would be subject to her whims. Whether or not the stranger was cognizant of this tidbit remained unseen; it was seen as irrelevant and inconsequential. 

Those spider ligaments attached to her back preener her hair, combing it back. Its volumetric sheen refracted the sun in a comparable way as the lake did. There was an air of potential beauty to the horror before the man—a union between the primal and the civilized, a walking and breathing paradox. Valerna had deemed the wait long enough. Not one to fritter any more time, her tongue delignated across those oral rims before she'd croon forth a rejoinder.

"Well enough to summon an audience, or so it seems." She added, stressing the fact she had ceased her playing. Yet another gesticulation to air dominance. 

"There is no bewitchery here—no ensorcelled artifact to change my appearance. Your eye isn't deceiving you. However, the crude matter we don can change how people perceive us. But only a fool canvases the veneer and presumes to understand another. A proclivity we all must fight against." Her voice was melodic yet older than her body suggested. It bore with it the cloak of age, the aura of a wise woman. Something further stressed by those domineering and indifferent eyes.

"How wise of you to keep your distance. Trepidation hangs in the air; it's palpable to us both. I doubt our meeting will come to blows. Something tells me you're the sort to strike first if you discerned such danger emanating from little ol' me. Only the brave or the stupid would approach so candidly. Which one are you I wonder?" Valerna paused before continuing her address.

"I reckon this is the point where we dispense with pleasantries? I'm Valerna Jorgenskull, a name that tolls hollow here. Like you, I'm merely a voyager." She added nonchalantly. Her fist banged against her breast as a greeting. A gesture whose meaning was likely lost to the fellow, given it stemmed from her culture. 

Valerna tapered her eyes as she studied the form before her. He'd likely feel it, a muted dissection, one without guilt or obfuscation. She was a predator, and so was he. It was only natural they'd evaluate one another. They'd be foolish not to.

"You can come closer, I don't bite." She concluded before sashaying forward, closing half the wedge of space that stood between them. Her strut was unpretentious, with only the nuanced bouncing of her buxomness to add anything interesting. That was assuming the fellow cared or was susceptible to the charm of a woman. 

Regardless of whether things proceeded swimmingly, the spider intended to make the most of this wink. He was a source of valuable information, data that could spell the difference between survival and an abrupt demise. She intended to catch whatever she offered in her mental webbing and to store it for future use. Knowledge and information were an indispensable tool in her arsenal, a universal commodity in her experience. It can be a shield or a sword, depending on circumstances.