[ The tree is hideous, but its shade is pleasant in the afternoon sun. He squints at the sky, taking in the position of the sun; it must be later than he'd thought. They've already whiled away so much of the day. Not that he particularly minds. Lazing about doing nothing of import with Iorveth is his favorite thing to do. ]

Mm. [ A hum back. He winds his hands into the fabric of Iorveth's shirt, tugging him nearer. With a coy grin: ] You're the only one I care to please.

[ "How lovely, that one so bound to nature approaches," comes a voice from behind him, and Astarion whirls around, hand flying to the hilt of his dagger. ]

Hells! [ he says, exasperated, when he sees that the interloper is only a dryad clad in an outfit made of leaves and twisted vines. With her green skin and her branchlike headpiece, she blends seamlessly into the scenery. Astarion points an accusatory finger at her nonetheless. ] Have you no manners, sneaking up like that?

[ Not a trace of irony to his scolding. It's only all right for him to skulk around and frighten people. The dryad hardly seems fazed, only giving him a mild once-over. "And one very unnatural." ]

Well, that's just rude.