Ah, that little lift puts her on her guard. Schön sinks again, touching feet to floor--let the lady have the comfort of altitude.

"My folk have long been fond of humans," he soothes, "and they in turn have called us fair. Something, I think, has given a poor representation of all things magical, and I hope you shall allow me to make a countering case?" He extends a hand, open, palm-up, empty, an entreaty for peace.