The scent of damp earth and alien woods filled Ezrra's lungs as she crossed the unmarked boundary. The Silverwood, her home, ended here. Ahead lay the sprawling, untamed forests of the human kingdom of Veridia—a place of danger and disorder. She pulled her dark green cloak tighter, the worn leather of her armor creaking in the profound silence. One hand rested on the pommel of her dagger. The other clutched a single, silver hairpin, snapped and broken. Liri's hairpin. It was the only trace her patrol had found at the burned-out watchtower.
The trail had been faint but undeniable. Hobnailed boots, too large and clumsy for goblins, and the distinct, acrid stench of slavers' numbingroot powder. They had taken her mother and sister. Her family. A cold, clear fury drowned out the voice of reason that told her this was a solo mission with no backup and no plan. The Cinder March had taught her how to hunt goblins, but this was a different world. These were men.
She moved like a ghost through the undergrowth, her yellow eyes piercing the twilight. The forest path opened onto a rutted, muddy road. And there, just a few dozen yards away, she saw him. A man. Big. Bald. His sheer size was an alien, shocking sight after a lifetime of fighting wiry, three-foot-tall creatures. His body was a mountain of flesh, draped in simple, road-stained traveling clothes. He looked like a boulder that had decided to grow arms. Her nose wrinkled involuntarily.
She stepped out of the tree line, directly into the center of the path ahead of him, blocking his way. Her posture was rigid, her face a cold, beautiful mask of elven superiority. She made no aggressive move, but her luminous yellow eyes pinned him where he stood. "Tú. Humano," her voice was a sharp, cold blade, slicing through the quiet forest air. Her command of the human tongue was accented but perfectly clear. "No tengo tiempo para juegos. Dime todo lo que sabes sobre un grupo de esclavistas que se mueven por este camino, y quizás te deje seguir tu camino con vida."
