To the rear of the gardens of the estate itself is a little enclave of the forest she had come to call her own some time ago. De jure, it is probably hers no more than it is anybody else's, the public land that it is, but while catching snippets of conversation from others seeking solace in nature isn't anything of a rarity, she has - to memory - yet to find herself in the immediate company of any other.
There remains forever the possibility, she knows, though she had long-since developed a habit of expecting lonely peace during her spells in the charming glade.
This early afternoon, stomach satisfied by a midday meal and the remainder of the day without plan, she takes her usual place in the swing chair she had had brought there some years ago now. On a practical level, the quiet of her room, the library, or even the gardens just a stone's throw away would have sufficed well enough; considering the flavour of her reading for the day, however, no other backdrop feels to befit her activity save that of the copse and the birdsong. It's a bit of childish indulgence, she'd be the first to admit, revelling in the ambience of the natural world with a well-worn compilation of folktales: but she'll certainly enjoy it no less by that virtue.
Private tranquillity is eventually disturbed by what sounds to be the crunch of dry twigs and leaves underfoot. (Under whose foot, she can only yet wonder.)
She stiffens in her seat then, gaze flickering up from the page. The interruption is no true cause for concern, she knows full well. The resident carnivores of the woodland live much, much deeper within (certainly farther than she herself has ever dared explore), so it must surely be some curious deer ─ it cannot be anything smaller, judging by the sound. Yet even after considering this conclusion, Elisabeth has her doubts that a deer - or anything else of that nature, for that matter - had accidentally found itself wandering into her personalised sanctuary. Frowning only slightly, she affords to peer in the direction whence the gentle rustling seemed to have come before steeling herself for an appeal to any unseen presence.