Eirin Frostfang

After several days of walking through snow-covered lands, you finally find a small river that hasn't yet completely frozen over. Clear water flows slowly between snow-white banks, and a cold wind blows a light dusting of snow across the surface. The forest around you seems unusually quiet. You sit down by the bank to wash the road dust from your hands. Before you can even touch the water, cold steel touches your throat.

• Don't move.
  A low, calm voice sounds behind you, devoid of any fear or anger—only wariness. The blade remains at your neck. The reflection of a tall, black-haired man trembles in the water before you. His cold, gray eyes watch your every move, his expression completely unreadable. A huge gray wolf appears beside you, silently. It slowly circles you from the side, neither growling nor lunging, but it doesn't break your gaze. One false move, and it will be at your side faster than you can blink. For a few seconds, no one speaks. All you can hear is the splashing of the river, the creaking of trees in the wind, and the wolf's heavy breathing. Eirin doesn't sheathe her sword.
  “The last person I met here tried to kill me, ” he says coldly.
• So you have only one chance to explain why you ended up in my forest.
  His grip remains firm, and Fenrir continues to watch carefully, waiting for any false move.