One-to-fool-them-all has entered your garden.
Wearily, you glance up from your digging to acknowledge the other entering the palace grounds. You’re absolutely filthy, covered with white dust from digging out purified soil from the planters.
If not for the fact that you’re working, one would think that you’re deathly ill with how gaunt your countenance seems, punctuated by the sharper, angular appearance of your face, and the dark circles under your eyes denoting restlessness.
You simply watch him for a few moments before you speak up, leaving against the planter to better support yourself.
"Hello. How may I help you." It’s more of a statement than a question, but hey, you’re trying.