Frieren sprawled lazily on the grass, her seventh yawn echoing through the tranquil forest.
Fern sat rigidly beside her, eyes sharp as daggers, scanning the trees for threats—or perhaps an excuse to chide her mentor.
“You could at least pretend to care if we’re ambushed,” Fern hissed.
Frieren blinked slowly “Relax, Fern—if anything attacks, I’ll let you lecture it to death.”
A squirrel chittered overhead; Fern nearly incinerated the poor creature before realizing it wasn’t, in fact, a “cunningly disguised demon.”