[ Indignation heats Astarion's face. How dare she imply that he's hesitant to engage in trust and honesty just because he's never been trusting and honest in his life. It's not like she knows that, anyway. At least, he doesn't think she does. His knowledge of dryads is scarce, sourced mostly from fiction books and idle gossip. As a city slicker, he's never seen one in the flesh—in the bark?—before. After all, their domain is the forest, the nearest of which is miles from here. ]

Why do you assume my heart is reluctant? I'm wonderful at trust and honesty, I'll have you know.

[ "Then let us go," she replies, voice breathy and soft. "Close your eyes, and take a deep breath." Before Astarion can reply that he doesn't breathe, the hustle and bustle of the circus gives way to a more idyllic scene. Greenery as far as the eye can see, dotting the path they're on and climbing up the nearby rocks. A waterfall roars to the right, spilling into a river that runs between them, the only path across a sturdy, moss-covered log. The cool, gentle breeze kissing their cheeks smells floral and clean.

Fey magic, he thinks. Both disconcerting and enchanting. Are their real bodies still standing in the middle of that circus, or did she somehow transport them to this place? Peaceful and calm, untouched by civilization yet perfectly cultivated, it seems almost too picturesque to be real. ]

We didn't agree to having your magic tricks played on us.

[ His words are grumpy, but a part of him finds this 'magic trick' fascinating, and his eyes are wide with wonder. ]