Early one afternoon, a small hooded figure drifts into town, her tattered black clothing flapping lightly with each tentative step. Behind her, small dark wings extrude from her back, twitching nervously, and curved horns jut out through worn holes in the top of her hood.  Her arrival in Volaire is peculiar: she steps backwards through the gate, then spins in a fluid motion to face forward again, carrying on as if nothing unusual happened at all. On the main street, she pauses, her tiny frame dwarfed by the townsfolk around her. She shuffles off to the side, tilting her head as she studies the unfamiliar scene. Every passerby seems to startle her at first. If someone glances her way, she quickly darts into an alley, only to peek out again moments later, curiosity overriding caution.

Her hands fidget constantly with something tucked beneath the layers of fabric around her neck, the gesture almost obsessive. She reaches out to poke at the world around her, tracing the rough texture of the walls, the uneven cobblestones, and the carved wooden signs and doors of the town. Eventually, the tavern draws her attention. With a flutter of her wings, she lifts herself just enough to perch at the edge of a window, peering inside curiously.

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