Blood pooled at her legs, and around her body.

  Amia quickly began patting herself. Her stomach, chest, legs.

  There were no major injuries on her, as far as she knew.

  Whilst the tall woman remains, standing there. One hand extended, while the other held her katana-like blade by her side - length longer than half of Amia.

  Strands of her jet-black hair continued to dance in rhythm to the wind, in time together with the thick fur wrapped around her hide chest armour.

  Amia quickly reaches behind her to where her blade laid. Able to finally reach it this time.

  A wild reckless swing in front of her.

  Missing everything.

  The woman did not react at all.

  Her arm still extended. The other held her blade by her side steadily.

  Very steadily.

  A few short tense moments pass before she finally reacts.

  Only to simply sheath her weapon.

  Amia’s tunic was torn and bloodied, parts of her breasts exposed to the air. Hair in a mess with strands clinging to her face from the splatters of blood, sweat and dirt. White hair speckled with debris from the ground, and the red ribbon on her ponytail barely holding on.

  Her chest continued to rise and fall rapidly as her breathing continued to force in air.

  Is she out of danger, yet?

  Her hands dig into the soil as she slowly picks herself up. Never breaking eye contact with the woman in front of her.

  A quick glance at the extended hand in front of her before she gives a shove into the stomach.

  All Amia felt when her palms made contact with the body was just…solid.

  Even with her stomach being one of the sections that were uncovered, it felt like Amia was pushing her palms into a boulder.

  Amia’s mind starts racing with countless thoughts again.

  Her escape from this still looking very slim.

  A sudden movement.

  A sharp twist to her blade as she attempted another attack.

  Before her blade could even move an inch. The woman’s extended hand had already reached the hilt of the blade where Amia’s hand is.

  Assertive, but somehow, gentle.

  Amia slowly looks up at the face that the hand belongs to.

  It gently closed its eyes and pursed its lips - almost into a smile - as it shook its head. Telling her, no.

  Reluctantly, Amia eases her hand holding her weapon. Her hand slowly releasing from the woman’s grip.

  Spluttering.

  Amia turns on her heels as she scans around her for where the sound came from.

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  A myriad of dead body pieces laid around her.

  Except for one.

  He was coughing and gasping for air. Mouth pushing out blood.

  A low groan followed as his body jerked and shuddered, face turning to the pair looking down on him, standing by his feet.

  More gasping and choking sounds, as he forced a laugh, and uttered a sentence.

  “You fucking wh-”

  A swipe of a blade and the small crunching sound of it cutting through bone and cartilage.

  More blood pools around the now headless body as the tall looming figure flicked her blade - blood no longer clinging on - before sheathing her weapon.

  At this distance, Amia’s rescuer’s presence now felt dense. Her presence pressing in without a single touch.

  Amia’s heart-rate began to ease, her torn tunic now barely moving with her breathing. While the woman standing in front of her almost looked like she barely even exerted herself at all.

  The sound of Amia’s breathing was the only thing filling the soundscape, bar the natural hum of the forest.

  Silence.

  At least it was, until the air started smelling like blood again.

  But, not from the dead bodies that now laid around them.

  It was carried by the wind this time.

  And together with it, the smell of Magick, but not recognizable..

  Amia’s sense knows that it was Magick, although she has never come across this particular type of smell before.

  More subtle thumps and cracks continued a few more times across the inlet, barely audible, but noticeable.

  The two left standing in the forest whipped their heads around in unison at the direction of the sound.

  Amia turns back to her rescuer.

  “Say something,” Amia snapped. Breath ragged.

  The woman in front of her did not react.

  Not defiance. Not obedience. Just absence.

  Amia’s jaw tightened. “Fine.”

  She pulls her red ribbon out of her hair before she reties it around the same spot. Tighter this time.

  Then looking down at her waist. Redjusting her belt where her Katana hung.

  Hand prints dragging downwards starting to appear on her lower stomach and pelvis now.

  “Tsk..” Amia tuts her tongue in disapproval.

  More sounds of cracking and thumping again. This time the distance sounding slightly closer.

  “Thank you, but I’m going now,” Amia utters at her rescuer as she finishes tying her belt up. The fabric sound of her belt tightening concluded that she was done.

  Her anger returning after her mind briefly transcribes the events of the past hour.

  “Do not try to stop me.” Glaring at her.

  Quickly turning in place and walking off - only to stop a few steps in as she could hear the crunching sound of the dirt under the boots of the woman behind her - following.

  Amia halts, without looking back.

  “What-”

  She was cut off as the sound of thick cloth flapped around her ears.

  The thick fur cape of the rescuer now firmly sits around her shoulders, covering Amia up to her midriff.

  Amia eventually slowly turns.

  Intrigued.

  And confused.

  The hand of the woman softly touched the front of the cape with a gentle push.

  Gesturing. With a smile and nod following soon after.

  “Well then..” Amia speaks. “Shall we?”

  No reaction.

  Amia turns in place for the final time. Feet digging into the blood-splattered dirt of the ground and taking off towards the edge of the forest, headed to the foot of the bridge that led to Madura Castle.

  The light haze from the smoke starting to make its way to the bridge.

  Another smell in the air.

  Blood again.

  This time smelling “sharper”, fresh, and closer. Smelling like it originated from just over the bridge.

  Behind her she could hear the boots of the woman crunching into the ground. Following her at the almost exact same distance with each step. Sensing her eyes watching Amia.

  Not imposing.

  But, undeniable.