Hirethal Moonshadow paused at the edge of the grove, one hand on each scimitar. The sacred trees stood in a circle, their branches gathering overhead to provide a sort of natural ceiling for this space. Their presence didn't affect him the way it might have done a druid, but he could still feel the blessings and protections that attended this space.
And there, on the far side of the hidden clearing, someone was sitting beside the grave of his once-wife.
He remained still for a long moment, looking, but the figure didn't move. It didn't have the look of a guard, or one of King Lamont's champions. Its armor was plain, functional, and colored to blend into the trees and grasses around it. The weapon beside it was an elvish double-scimitar, which didn't rule out the possibility of it being in service to the usurper, but did rather reduce the odds.
Hirethal stepped into the sacred grove, paused, and then cleared his throat. "May I ask...?"