The creatures have no particular fear of elves, but nor do they seek them, and none of her party have been attacked; she feels safe enough traveling through the forest on her own, stepping lightly, looking for the sweep of the treeline and any springs that might be useful for settlers if elves settle here. Besides, she is a student of the small magics, some of which may be cast quite rapidly if there is need; she could frighten away an animal that took too much interest in her. The ribbons tied around each of her knees and ankles (blending seamlessly with the rest of her travel outfit) are some of her finest small magic, guiding her steps so that she may place her feet as elves ought to be able to and bring no embarrassment to her House. They don't make her truly graceful, but she can walk, and care will do the rest.
She's deep into the forested part of the Unknown Island when she starts finding statues. Old statues. The trees have grown up around them, it looks like, they've been here that long; they're worn and weathered and have lichen growing on them.
And they're all of unicorns.
The oldest sculptures are none too skillful, but as she proceeds inward towards the center of the island, they become newer and better and it's plain to see that they're not of unicorns, but a unicorn. A unicorn with a broken horn; this is not, it soon becomes apparent, random damage to early statues. Someone has carved a specific unicorn, dozens - hundreds? thousands? - of times. And the art has been made with such intense love, and the newest of the statues are so delicately done that they look almost like real unicorns, with all the magic that implies, though they hold still and are on closer inspection all still carved from stone.
Someone loved this unicorn, and lived on this island, and made a thousand statues of her, and now the place is inhabited only by giant animals that certainly could have done no such thing. Isibel wonders what happened to the sculptor. To the unicorn, too.
On she walks.
Isibel nods. "This will prevent any of our expedition from crossing the border into his forest. But if we settle on the unforested parts of the island, then others may come and go, and some of these include those who are not elves. One day there may be children on the island, too, who are not so careful about protocols of privacy."
"All right," says Isibel. "Then it is selfish and predictable and I shall visit him regardless."
"It seems that it might be a productive use of my visits to teach him the modern tongue," offers Isibel, when no translation of this latest exchange is forthcoming.
(She does not like that so many things have been left out.)
"Perhaps I should remain here, and make use of what light remains for that purpose, as undoubtedly your explanations to the others about why they ought not enter the forest will be more eloquent than mine," Isibel says.
Isibel finds a good place to sit and opens up her notebook and debates whether to begin with the alphabet - so that she can bring along a book on her next visit and have that as source material - or with drawings and vocabulary words - so that they can have rudimentary conversations quicker. Eventually she decides on the second option. She flips to the early pages of the notebook and starts teaching him the modern words for "unicorn", "elf", and "demon", assuming he's attentive to this exercise.