Gunnaya would waken to the sound of harsh footfalls upon the crisp snow, combined with the muted creaks and clinks of well made armor. And then the far less subtle, CLONK CLONK of a shield banging against a nearby tree. [color=82ca9d]"Hello! I'm sorry to assail my words upon on your poor defective senses, but they seem to have lead you into Elven territory. I'll be escorting you out now."[/color]

Below Gunnaya currently resided a rather grumpy, speciest, and cold elf. Though bundled as best she could, she was still wearing plate armor in dead winter. Blithe Marrowdwell's shield was on her arm, but her blade was not drawn yet, her free hand impatiently tapping away on her other arm. The elf's eyes were glaring away at Gunnaya, not quite so well hidden as she thought.