"Treasure in the highlands...unusual artifacts from past mages...bah, this better be true...!" she rambled softly as she lifted the flap of her purse and pulled out a fancy book. She huffed as she flipped through the book, finding the last written page to continue writing. She pulled out a special pen and began writing. "So what if I'm not physically fit enough...! That doesn't mean I'm not fit enough....wait...that's not right..." she rambled as she wrote, pausing and holding a finger to her shin as she pondered the correct way to say that. The writing in her book was illegible, unless you were into aliens and crop circles. Because that's exactly what the book was filled with, perfect circles, haf circles and dashes and lines intersecting and connecting them, all written at a 45 degree angle along the page, giving it a very unique appearance.
Back to the crazy woman, she sat, still and quiet, like a statue as she thought, that is, until her stalker made a move. The feeling whipped through her ear, causing it to twitch and flicker lightly, snapping her out of her train of thought. "Hm??" she blinked, bifocals slipping down her nose as she turned her head, her quizzical expression slowly becoming a cute glare as she stared at her tendril. "That wasn't YOU, was it?" she actually argued. And amazingly enough, the swaying tendril froze and tensed, giving off the impression that it had no idea what she was talking about. She pointed the base of her pen at it and shook it at her tendril, making it cower slightly. "Better not have been! You know better!" she huffed, grumbling as she turned back to her book.
"Now where was I? ...Damn it, I forgot! I hate forgetting! Its so illogical and frustrating!" she as getting flustered at herself, yet she seemed to have a cool and lazy aura about her, never really getting uppity, but just casually complaining, like she had nothing better to do. She pushed her glasses back up and sighed, lowering her pen to the paper to continue writing in her unusual texts. As she did so, she spoke the language that went along. Her voice was fluid and gentle, a bit lazy like herself, and somewhat resembled French. It sounded like she was telling a story as she spoke the sentences, proofreading them in her head before composing them on the paper of her book.
Meanwhile, the reprimanded appendage knew more. It looked up at the tree like a waiting serpent, curling its fingers as if it were offended that it got blamed for something it didn't do. It bided its time, waiting to see if that flash would strike again, and this time, it'd be ready for it!