A sylvan glade.

Of course.

I can see it now. A bright day, a pure blue sky and the sound of birdsong. Green trees, lush with summer. A clearing, carpeted with grass and flowers. And there you sit, on a large stone, playing the lute and singing a romantic ballad.

You don't? You should really learn sometime. I find something irresistibly appealing about the image of a handsome stranger with a lute on his knee.

In any case, there you are, singing just for the pleasure of the music. And off in the trees, unseen by you, I stand watching, and listening.

I heard your music as I was passing through the forest, and I approached silently, hoping to see this talented musician without interrupting his performance. When I found you, I stood spellbound, entranced by your song. And when your last chord echoed through the forest, I decided that someone who was as good with his hands as you are would be an opportunity I couldn't pass up.

There's a river nearby. You've heard its soft mumblings from where you were sitting. But after your song, while you're adjusting the tuning of your lute, you suddenly hear a large splash.

Curious, you sling your lute over your shoulder and walk toward the sound. You find a sharp bend in the river, where the water is wide and slow and deep. There you also find an elf, swimming. To human eyes she would seem to be eighteen years old. And all of her clothes are in a neat pile at your feet.

I see you, standing at the bank, looking at me, and I smile.