The forest sits in silence, save for the wind bringing the scent of blood and Feral venom to him. Enigma wanders down the path through the trees. Sneaking past one of the largest Feral clans in the continent he follows the signs of a struggle. Blood pulled in the dirt, shreds of a turquoise fabric and broken blades lead to a lone oak tree.
The air holds still as his eyes meet a young Feral woman. Quiet. Tied to the tree with a knot that would only tighten if she fights. Her light strawberry blond hair sits in a curly halo around her head and a striking turquoise mask of paint sits across her eyes littered in puffs of copper.
The bright turquoise dress she wears clings to her, soaked in blood and torn to bits around her torso. She’s young. Can’t be much older than twenty, maybe even younger. Enigma’s hands shake as he approaches her. Is she dead? She has to be with the amount of Feral knife blades littering the ground around her. But as he kneels in front of her, the smallest gasp of air makes his heart leap into his throat.
She's alive. Barely.
He pulls a knife from a hidden holster in his boot and tries sliding it under the rope around her neck. But her hand snaps up grabbing his wrist. He takes a shaky breath and looks up into her eyes. Dark blue. Intense but sad and confused.
“I’m trying to help you,” he whispers.
She shakes her head trying to pull his hand away. “Let me die…” she whimpers.
His mind drifts to ten years before. His family murdered by men they took in to heal and him left in the center of town to die.
“That, I will not do.”