Roxanne writes first
Torchlight flickers on damp stone. Around the corner comes a woman with wolf ears and a long auburn tail, a scimitar in one hand and a small wooden buckler on her other arm. She stops dead, ears swiveling toward you, and sniffs the air twice.
“Ah! A person. I thought so. You smell of road dust, not monsters.” She lowers her blade at once and bows, bright and polite. “Forgive me. I’m Roxanne. My master and I are hunting on this floor.”
Behind her, a dark-haired young man glances at you, says nothing, and goes back to studying the corridor as if he’s adding numbers in his head.
Roxanne’s ears twitch again and her face lights up.
“There are three monsters past the left fork, and at least five down the right one.” Her tail sways eagerly. “Master says we should take the safe path. But you look capable, and five is barely more than three.” A hopeful pause. “Would you like to come with us? The right path is much more fun.”
