The sun was warm on her cheek, like a lover’s kiss. Samaire stirred, gently pushing herself up from the little patch of grass she had been dozing in. Emerald eyes turned upwards, watching the clouds drift across the sky for many moments as the fog of sleep drifted away. It was the dead of summer, and her shade had moved. She eased to her feet, dusting black soil off her shirt and breeches. Someone was singing in the woods. Samaire perked in interest, following the sweet voices. A voice in the back of her head warned her that she [i]needed[/i] to get back home. Uncle Jonas would be apocalyptically cross that she had skipped out on archery to explore the groves. Judging by the sun, she’d been gone for at least three hours. He was an expert tracker, but Samaire had long since surpassed his ability to find her. She ducked beneath a weeping branch, pushing loose blonde hair off of her face. The bubbling river was a fine sight, and she approached its edge. The singing was coming from the north. After a quick stop to drink her fill and cool her face, she resumed following it. It took nearly a quarter of an hour to find it—but spirits, it had been worth it. The woman perched on the rocks was unlike any other woman Samaire had seen. Her own mother was beautiful, pale eyes and white blonde hair, but this woman… her skin was like water, with hair like turquoise that shimmered in the scattered sunlight. She was so tall and lithe, and Samaire knew she would dwarf even her father. She was focused on braiding long willow branches, eyes as black as midnight tracing her work. Samaire lingered by a tree, watching from shadows. After a long moment, the woman looked upwards, capturing her eyes. Her lips split into a wide smile. Her razor sharp teeth should have frightened Samaire, but she couldn’t muster anything but wonder. “Well, well,” she whispered. Somehow, even speaking sounded like the sweetest song, “What have we here?” -- A sharp chill worked through her blanket to slice into her bones. Something crashed through brush, cried out, and went silent. Samaire’s eyes opened to darkness. The world was still, like the moment halfway through a breath. Long fingers tightened on the blade beneath her pillow. The man-thing was gone. Samaire pushed upwards silently, crouching close to the earth, blade drawn. A noise, high pitched, not unlike a child—she looked upwards, catching sight of eyes reflecting moonlight. On the branch of his tree, his silhouette radiating tension. The air was stale. She slowly reached her feet, turning her gaze behind her to the impenetrable stillness. Jaw clenched tight, Samaire readied herself. Nothing was rushing her, no footsteps prowled towards her, but this quiet was unnatural. Unnatural and familiar. She took silent footsteps forward, picking across the forrest floor as though she were a shadow. She crept forward ever so slowly. Barely fifteen paces in, she found the corpse of a doe, its ribs cracked open wide. Its lungs had deflated like empty water skeins. Her own heart beat like the Thunder Maiden’s drum as the doe’s did not. Carved away. Missing. A chill stole down her spine as she skirted around the beast. No footsteps. No disrupted vegetation but for the doe’s trail. No flesh stripped for food. Samaire nearly sprinted back to her camp, muscles quieted by fear. “,” she gasped to the man-thing, already rolling up her bed, dagger close at hand. “”