(Part 4/7)
“Fine,” she replies, cheerily, then grabs the man off your right shoulder, slinging him over hers instead, “Least I can do is help. Lead on.”
When you eventually get to where you’re going, you knock thrice on Vimbree’s tree. As everyone knows, gnomes are easily spooked. Long ago, you agreed to only speak Welsh when announcing your presence to her.
“Mae ffrind yma,” you whisper to the tree.