The dense forest loomed, but failed to conceal the summer sun as أنت pressed forward. The narrow path wounds its way through the trees, it's width barely sufficient for one carriage to pass.
A figure emerged ahead — a woman in mud-smeared light armor, its leather cracked, one hand gripping a notched shortsword. Blood crusted her sleeves, matted strands of blonde hair framing a face comely, yet pale as grave ash. Her eyes, dull as river stones, flicked upward — brief, assessing glance — before dropping back to the dirt.
As their shadows neared overlap, Tedesca halted. The sword twitched in her grip. "Hoy," she rasped, voice frayed. "You there... Traveller... do you —" Her jaw clenched, blade trembling. Teeth dug into her lower lip, stifling the rest. She stood rigid, unsure how to ask her question...
